


Effed Up

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Drama, Drinking, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mystery, Past Abuse, Porn With Plot, Power Bottom, Premature Ejaculation, Romance, Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21789568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Sole survivor and mercenary Jack has no memory of his past, save for frenzied dreams he can't quite piece together. One year after waking up lost and confused in the Commonwealth, Jack sustains an injury that makes travelling solo impossible. After bagging himself a cocky, young mercenary, parts of his old life start coming back into focus. But how can Jack hone in on his past when the present is so distracting?
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Male Sole Survivor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	1. Caps Up Front

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic will include mentions of suicide and may get a little dark.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaded, sarcastic Jack sustains an injury that makes flying solo risky. Fortunately, the Third Rail offers precisely the type of service he needs.

Bad footing. Can you believe that? An entire year spent as a mercenary in this God-forsaken wasteland and what finally did me in was bad footing. All it took was some raider bitch’s stray bullet for me to lose my balance, and before I knew it, I was falling three stories. Guess I must have lost consciousness too, because I woke up in the pouring rain with blood on my head and a nasty concussion. I don’t even remember making in back to Goodneighbor. 

Mayor Hancock was no help. The guy hated me. Thought I had no integrity. No morals. But you know what? That’s easy to say when you’re standing on top of a balcony ordering your goons around instead of facing life and death situations on the reg. Sometimes I swore I used to be military, because even though I had no problem killing anyone who crossed me, hazy memories of the sounds of gunfire kept me awake at night. Hancock didn’t understand that, not that I could have expected him to considering I never talked about my problems. I dealt with my mental illness all by my lonesome, which is probably why flying solo ended up with me wounded in Goodneighbor. It seemed I would be my own undoing. Figured as much.

I caught a couple of stares on my way down to the Third Rail. Guess the drifters didn’t appreciate my bloody face. Well fuck’em. Neither did I.

I made for the bar and ordered a drink. For a second, I thought about chasing down my double shot with a beer or two, but it turns out well-whiskey and a concussion aren’t easy on the stomach. In fact, the loud jazz and clamor of the bar were overwhelming. I needed space, some dark corner somewhere where I could decompress for a tick. I peeled myself up off of the stool like a rotten banana – God only knows I looked, smelled, and felt like one – and walked down the first inconspicuous hallway I saw. Before turning the corner, I paused. Voices.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready.”

“I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock,” responded…someone. Who was that? I pulled my pack of cigarettes out of my leather jacket. If they caught me eavesdropping, it’d look like I was just a wallflower, smoking in solitude to escape the bustle of the bar. “It’s been almost three months,” he continued, “don’t tell me you’re getting rusty. Should we take this outside?” I leaned against the wall and peeked around the corner, past a couple of those creepy ass mannequins. Wait. Were those Gunners? And who was responsible for that backtalk and sass? Obviously not that…that… _kid._

“It ain’t like that,” replied the Gunner. “I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good.” The kid stood up from his chair and stood to face his aggressors. Jesus Christ. He couldn’t have been an inch over five-six, _maybe_ five-seven if he wanted to round off that half inch. What game was he playing? Either one of those goliaths could have crushed him whenever they felt like it. 

“Yeah, I heard. But you’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn’t going to work for us.”

“I don’t take orders from you!” he retorted as though he were speaking to a demanding parent. “Not anymore! So why don’t you take your girlfriend and walk out of here while you still can?” Heh.

“What?!” exclaimed Winlock’s girlfriend. “Winlock, tell me we don’t have to listen to this shit?!”

“Listen up, MacCready,” commanded the lady’s gentleman suitor, “the only reason we haven’t filled your body full of bullets is because we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect other people’s boundaries…we know how to play the game. It’s something you never learned.”

“Glad to have disappointed you!” snarked this MacCready character.

Winlock laughed a deep, syrupy laugh. “You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?” 

“You finished?”

“Yeah, we’re finished. Come on Barnes.”

The sweet Gunner couple turned their backs on MacCready and stalked down the hallway. Considering it was about two feet wide and occupied largely by mannequins, we were forced to make eye contact. They caught me just as I was lighting up my smoke. “Hey,” I said. Not even sure why. I hated the Gunners. Guess morbid curiosity made me want to chide them. “This where the bathroom is?”

“Get out of my way,” said Barnes, and you know, I’ve gotta say, she really looked and sounded like a man. I grinned at them both and blew smoke in their faces. For a moment, I saw red flash in Barnes’s eyes. Winlock was obviously the collected one, because he nudged Barnes as though to say don’t make a scene. I kept my eyes pinned on them until they were gone, and finally turned the corner. 

MacCready had his middle and index fingers pinned to the bridge of his nose. Something told me that this wasn’t his first Gunner-related headache. Before I could say anything, his head shot up and he said, “Look pal, if you’re preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you’ve got the wrong…oh jeez, what happened to your face?”

“Well that’s rude.”

“Sorry, it’s just, you’re…” He removed his hand from his nose and gestured. I raised an eyebrow, perfectly aware of the fact that I was a bloody mess. I guess he got the picture, because he continued. “Uh, anyway, unless you’re looking for a hired gun, I can’t help you.”

“From what I just heard, sounds like you’re out of business.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not about to let a couple of Gunner rejects stand between me and a solid payday.” 

Eh, that was fair. Caps are caps, and those Gunners were obviously re-something. Re-jected. Re-tarded.

“You’re acting like I’m supposed to know what you’re talking about,” I replied flippantly, blowing a stream of smoke into the air.

Crinkles formed on the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s better that you don’t. I don’t want the stink of Winlock and Barnes rubbing off on me and scaring off my business.”

“Yeah, can’t say I’d want them ‘rubbing off’ on me, either.” I made sarcastic, little air-quotes. “Anyway, maybe I am looking to hire someone.”

Something about my garbage wit made the kid relax. His wrinkles unfurled and his shoulders dropped. He then took a second or two to look me over, his blue-gray eyes judging me from top to bottom, from my black hair to my brown eyes; from my square chin to my thin, cupid’s lips; from my fresh scar that stretched from my left temple across my cheek to my flurry of dark stubble. 

“Huh. Now what about you?” he asked. “How do I know I won’t end up with a bullet in my back?”

“You don’t. That’s part of the risk, right?” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

Something told me he couldn’t afford to argue, not if he was really entertaining the idea of hiring me. Nobody in their right mind would have looked at me and my messed up face and thought, _yeah, this guy looks legit._ But maybe he knew I was exactly the kind of psychopath who would hire him despite his being tormented by the Gunners. Maybe he knew I was his only hope. And if I didn’t want to be stuck nursing my injuries in this piss-stain of a settlement, I would need someone out there making sure I didn’t die…that I didn’t lose my footing.

He followed up with, “I dunno…frankly, I’m taking a huge risk being out here in the Commonwealth in the first place, so I’m not about to leave anything to chance.”

What was he doing? Fishing? Did he want me to ask why he was out here? Not happening. “Doesn’t matter. You see this?” I pointed to my face.

“Uh, yeah, pretty hard to miss there, chief. You, uh, you want a rag or something?” He ended with a sardonic titter and a smirk to match. Little shit. 

“Do you think I actually want to hire you?” His smile faded. “I’d rather walk right back out those gates and mind my own God damn business, but here we are. I fucked up, alright? Option A: I hire you. I keep making caps, you keep making caps, everybody keeps making caps and the world goes on. Or Option B: I leave you here with your creepy dolls and neither of us make any money.”

“Hey, those aren’t my mannequins!”

“Whatever. Everyone has a kink.” I took a deep drag.

The merc clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Why should I even consider offering my services to someone like you? You obviously can’t hold your own in a fight –” 

“Isn’t that your job?” I interrupted.

“ –and you’re kind of an assh-err…jerk.”

I paused and let my cigarette dangle idly from my lip. “The fuck was that?”

“What was what?”

“You religious, or?”

“Ugh. What happened to minding your own business, huh?” 

I nodded in agreement. “Fair enough.” 

“Christ. Look. The price is 250 caps, up front. And there’s no room for bargaining. What do you say?”

“Would you take 200?”

“Wh-ugh! I _just_ told you –” 

He was getting so worked up. Honestly, it wasn’t even about the caps anymore. I felt physically miserable – hell, I felt mentally miserable, too, as was the theme of the year in general – and getting a rise out of this stupid little mercenary was honestly the most fun I’d had in ages. It was exactly the kind of distraction I needed.

“Hold on,” I said, digging through my pockets for change. “Actually, I think all I have 190. Tell me, do you take payment in the form of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes?”

“Of course I don’t you moron!”

“What about bobby pins? Maybe an issue of _Live and Love?_ It’s my favorite edition but I’m willing to part with it, _barely,_ mind you, and it’s worth thirty-odd caps, so I’d say it’s a real deal, MacCready.”

“Except it’s not, because I told you 250 **NON-NEGOTIABLE!** Has anyone ever told you you’re infuriating?”

“Consistently. Do you take cashier’s checks?”

“Oh for crying out loud! Just give me the 200!”

I grinned, counted out the caps, and handed them over with a wink. He looked disgusted with me. Most people did, I think. Especially women and children, but judging by the look on MacCready’s face, he was no exception.

“Alright boss,” he said with the same enthusiasm I held toward supermutant meat bags. “You got yourself an extra gun. Lead on.”


	2. Impressed Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack decides to catch his flies with honey, and in return, MacCready starts to warm up.

MacCready didn’t understand why we didn’t stick around Goodneighbor for the night, especially with my injuries, but I wasn’t about to sleep in that shitheap. Nah. Better to sleep out by the docks. Besides, saltwater exfoliates and are you even living if your skin isn’t as smooth as a baby’s adorable little buttcheek?

I leaned over the dock behind the Shamrock Taphouse washing away the blood and grime. My head was absolutely killing me. For a second there I had to stop and catch my balance, kneeling over with my palms against the dock. Vertigo was starting to set in. And lucky me, I was fresh out of stimpaks. 

MacCready was busy polishing his gun with his sleeve, his back pressed against the railing. He stopped briefly and said, “Siddown, will ya?”

I don’t know what it was, whether it was the hot-cold sensitivity prickling at my flesh, the way my stomach rolled like the waves against the beach, or simply because I was an asshole, but I wasn’t having it. “I’m paying you to shoot, not to give orders.”

“Jeez, fine, _boss_ ,” he scoffed, and went back to his task. 

We stayed the night in a little shack. MacCready slept with his legs crossed and his hat pulled over his eyes with his rifle laid across his lap. I fell asleep shortly after he did (although he was so quiet I doubted he was actually asleep).

Images flashed through my mind. Gunfire. Power armor. Shouts and commands. Men and women wearing green. An explosion. _Flash._ There was a man, tall and thin, holding a child. He was in a kitchen with one of those old robots. _Another flash._ I was freezing, surrounded by metal walls. Icy fog billowed into the air. The child was there. Somebody took it, a doctor and a man with a gun, I think. Then came my voice screaming, “Oh God! Come on come on come on!” I was holding something. It was small and metal. A ring, maybe? And then… **BANG!**

“Ah God!” I bolted upright. I was drenched in sweat, head pounding, heart racing. So, you know, the usual. Still, it never got any easier. And every time I woke up, I would try my hardest to clutch at the images from my dreams and hold onto one long enough to remember why I was shooting at people or who the man in my dream was or why the infant was there. I could have sworn I knew them. But it didn’t make any sense. Everything from my dream was pre-war.

I _loathed_ those dreams, those nightmares, absolutely resented them. I was in the same boat as every other unlucky bastard out there; I was just some rando fated to grow up in the apocalypse. Did I really need to have dreams about the world before the bombs? It’s not like I had a personal attachment to it. All I cared about was living to see another day, about making enough caps to survive. 

When I glanced up, MacCready was staring at me like I was insane. Well, in his defense… 

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, pulling myself to my feet.

“Didn’t intend to ask,” he replied curtly. Heh. Guess that’s what I deserved for telling him off earlier, right? I didn’t tell him it stung. I just saw myself out to the dock, got my thoughts together while I smoked, and went back to bed. To bed, but not to sleep.

“Hey,” I said the next morning. It was about seven. The white sunrise was sparkling like champagne across the ocean. I leaned over the cooking spit in the sand and cranked the…well, the crank. MacCready had his gun strapped to his back, stretching his arms above his head and popping his spine as he approached. 

“Yeah, what’s up?”

 _I’m sorry,_ I thought. _I’m sorry for being an asshole yesterday. You didn’t deserve that._

“Eh, nothing,” I answered. Damn it. I was such a cunt. “Brahmin or radscorpion?” 

MacCready snickered. “You tote around radscorpion meat?”

I shrugged. Ow. My shoulders hurt. “Keeps better than most other meats. The venom is a natural preservative, so. I’ll toss some on the spit.”

“Kay.” Deadpan. Man. We did not get off to a good start. 

Three days went by and the energy stayed exactly the same. His enthusiasm was obsequious at best. I mean, I understood that. I felt that on a personal level. I didn’t live, I _survived_ , and it felt like MacCready was surviving my company. We started off with a couple of easy jobs – go retrieve some chems from a shady drug den, grab a stash of caps from an abandoned house, et cetera – while my wounds healed. Fortunately, I had managed to avoid infection, and the concussion wasn’t terrible. Save for some gnarly bruises across the majority of the left side of my face and a deep cut that I knew would never heal right, I felt okay.

I didn’t speak much to MacCready during those days. Didn’t complain either, aside from the accidental grunt or groan that came with recovering from an injury. And the only thing I learned about MacCready was that he really, _really_ liked smack-talking our enemies. Raiders, super mutants, radroaches, they could all go to hell, according to him.

And what was the deal with him and curse words? He let them slip all the time, but more often than not, he would try and cover them up. It was annoying. Well, at least until it wasn’t. After a while it became more of a curiosity. A mystery. One I couldn’t ask about because I had already drawn the line in the sand; he was supposed to shoot things and leave me alone, and I was supposed to pay him. In theory, it was the ideal partnership; in practice, it felt bad. If I wanted to feel bad, I could have just gone out on my own. 

Trinity Plaza was marked on my pipboy’s map, and if the note I found on that dead settler was accurate, then there was an expensive hunting rifle inside. We were right around the corner, and all that was standing between me and my loot was a handful or raiders perched on the second story of some dilapidated, two-story house. Piece of cake. I pulled out my magnum and dropped into the Harries stance – the same one police use with a handgun and flashlight – and poised my left barrel at the first bastard I saw up there. 

Just as I was about to pull the trigger, I swayed. Oh God. There went my head again. Guess I wasn’t doing so great after all. I shook my head and tried again, aiming my weapon and squinting to focus. It was useless. My vision was swimming and I couldn’t see two feet in front of me let alone two yards. 

“The hell are you doing standing out in the open like that?!” snapped MacCready. “Either shoot or get out of the way!”

I raised my gun and tried again. Come on, not now! If I could just keep it together long enough to get one, measly shot in and not look like a complete tool…

I fired. The shot went somewhere, but judging by the way the raider cackled, it wasn’t inside of their skull. I gave a frustrated grunt and staggered behind the nearest building. My vision was a Goddamn wreck. I couldn’t tell what color the building was or what it was made out of, whether or not I was behind full cover, or where MacCready had taken off to. I closed my eyes and bent over, tuning into the sounds of my environment. One shot - - a body hitting the ground. Two shots - - another thud. And finally, a third shot - - the crack of a skull. And of course just as MacCready had mopped the floor, my vision was calming down. I no longer felt sick or dizzy, just stupid. 

“So, you impressed yet?” smirked MacCready, swaggering out of the shadows like a badass. “I told you I was a damn good shot.”

“I dunno. Haven’t really noticed.” I grinned back.

“Oh come _on._ You’ve got skills. I’m sure you know talent when you see it.”

I stood up straight again and the strangest thing happened. I felt a similar sensation to the one I had before: a touch of queasiness and a modicum of discomfort, only this time, it was because of the merc’s compliment. The hell was that? And to make matters worse, when he said it, he had those wrinkles on his nose again, the ones that were there whenever he was annoyed with me (so, most of the time), the ones I kept making a mental note of. The hell was _that?!_

“Yeah…I suppose so…” I mused.

His eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “There ya go! That wasn’t too hard to admit, was it? I’m completely self-taught you know. Picked up a sniper rifle when I was ten and never looked back. Always thought it was smarter to hit your targets at long range. I mean, why take chances, right? Besides, I had to come up with every trick in the book to survive the Capital Wasteland.”

“That next to the Lower-Case Wasteland?”

For the first time since I met him, I heard him laugh. “Wow, that was terrible.” 

Yeah it was. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if I had actually gotten butterflies or if I was still just sick. It was a little hard to distinguish. And as much as I wanted to be left alone to get my bearings, I still felt a little bad about brushing him off the other day. I was too proud to apologize, but maybe I could redeem myself. 

Alright, I thought, I’ll bite. “What were you doing in the Capital Wasteland?”

“I was born there.” MacCready took off his hat. A plume of wild, blond hair erupted in its stead. He combed his fingers through it to scratch away an itch.

“Well I’m sure your parents were thrilled about your hobby.”

“Never knew my parents,” he answered, tugging the cap back over his head. “Lived underground in a place called Little Lamplight with a bunch of other kids. Left there when I was around sixteen. We kind of had a policy there: no adults. When you were sixteen, you packed up and left. I know it sounds crazy, but having adults around was something we couldn’t trust.”

“Uh huh. And what did a bunch of teenaged brats do all day besides eat junk food and masturbate?” I paused. “Huh. Come to think of it, I might still be a teenaged brat.”

MacCready laughed a second time. Two for two today. Not bad. “Well aside from that, we all had our designated jobs and we watched each other’s backs. Can you believe I was actually the mayor for a while? Me? Crazy, I know.”

“Makes sense I suppose,” an automated response I’d given in an attempt to ignore the escalating nausea. Definitely not butterflies.

“Nothing makes sense anymore. You just roll with the punches.” He was jaded. I got that. I watched him lean up against the building and light up a cigarette. “Anyway, when I was sixteen, I ended up wandering the Capital Wasteland for a while.” He took a drag. “I took the odd job here and there, but things were pretty hot with the Brotherhood of Steel running the show.”

“You think men in metal are hot?”

“Ugh. You know what I mean.”

I snickered.

“Anyway, I hitched a ride with a caravan and made my way north until I ended up here. Made a pretty decent name for myself before I heard that the Gunners needed some sharpshooters.” He stopped, lowered his smoking hand, inhaled, and shook his head. “Biggest mistake of my life. They were animals. Killed anything that moved if it got in their way. I went with it for a while because the caps were good, but I dunno…I guess it started to catch up with me, so I quit. Which pretty much brings us to now. So there you have it: my whole life in a nutshell.” He ended on a singsong note. 

I wasn’t sure what had changed, why he suddenly felt the need to tell me about his life or why he felt like I’d earned hearing his story, but I guess taking the bait was worth it. MacCready seemed like a decent enough guy, just some normal kid tossed out into the world sooner than he should have been. That seemed to be the general theme these days. 

And you know, his company wasn’t terrible. Now that we were taking a break from being cold with each other, I was starting to warm up to him. He wasn’t just some kid being hounded by the Gunners or a random sharpshooter being hired to keep his mouth shut and aim; He was MacCready – whatever his whole name was – the guy with the cute nose-wrinkles and dashing smirk. 

_FLIRT FLIRT FLIRT_ screamed my brain. Eh, alright. But what to say? Something smooth. Something real smooth. How about: _sounds like the road can be a lonely place…until you meet someone to share it with._ Yeah. That sounded charming as fuck. Besides, what was he gonna do, reject me, and then we’d go back to our mutual silence? Big deal. I opened my mouth to give it a go. What came out was neither romantic nor flirtatious. It did, however, splatter onto my shoes.

“Damn, was my story really that bad?” MacCready gave a nervous laugh. 

I coughed and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, staring at the puddle of vomit on the ground. “Fuck. Sorry,” I croaked. Guess an apology accidentally came up too. “I was listening. My head is killing me is all.”

“Well, a handful of raiders holed up in a building probably means there’s a bed nearby. Wanna take a rest? Or if you’d rather I keep my opinions to myself…”

I shook my head. “No. Look, I was a real dick the other day.”

“Yeah, well…” MacCready shifted uncomfortably on the spot, “you’re paying me to follow orders, so –”

Another shake. “Look, just…I’m sorry. Can we start over?”

“Eh, sure,” he shrugged. “Does this mean you’re finally gonna tell me your name?”


	3. Pretty Simple Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and MacCready rest up before their quest. Meanwhile, Jack realizes that this kid is more charming than he first realized.

Had I seriously gone three days without introducing myself? Damn. I guess the last year of my life had really done a number on me, because I was garbage at socializing. 

Those raiders did end up having a small setup in the house, including a mattress on the floor which I took advantage of. I sipped some purified water, capped it, and rolled the cold bottle over my aching face. The winter’s chill meant no more carrying around lukewarm beverages. Sure it was cold outside, but at least the drinks were cold too.

“So Jack, huh?” confirmed MacCready, shifting his weight in the chair. “Got a last name?”

Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to care, let alone ask. I clenched my jaw and looked away. “Dunno.”

“You…don’t know your last name?”

“Hell, kid, Jack isn’t even my real _first_ name. It’s just what some guy called me once. ‘Move outta the way, jack.’ Heh.” My head swiveled back around and I shot him a sharp glance. “I don’t remember anything before last October. My name, my family, my life…they’re all gone, assuming I had any of that shit to begin with. For all I know I’m an Institute synth.” I gave a brisk chuckle – albeit a solemn one – and looked away again. 

“Oh. Uh…” MacCready cleared his throat. He was nervous. “That sounds…uh…sorry, I guess I don’t really know what to say.”

“So don’t. I’d like to drop it. Thanks.” Great. I was back to being a grade-A asshole. But damn if my head didn’t hurt. “Keep watch.” I rolled over onto my side and closed my eyes.

“You got it, boss. Migraines are no joke.” Eh, he was just saying something to fill the void. Or maybe he was trying to be sympathetic. I don’t know. I sure as shit didn’t deserve it. I heard MacCready hoist his gun into his lap and get comfortable in his chair.

Thankfully I managed to drift for a while. When I woke up, my mouth was dry and my eyes were crusted over. “Hey,” I said. My voice sounded terrible.

“Yeah?” Good. He was still there.

“What’s your first name?”

Silence. I sat up. Well I’ll be. My head actually felt pretty good. I rubbed my eyes and glanced over at MacCready who dutifully leaned back in the chair, his right ankle over his left knee. 

“Look, the name’s Robert Joseph MacCready, but –”

“That’s a sick name.”

“Huh?”

“Bobby-J? Cool as fuck, man.” 

“Uh,” he chuckled, “thanks. MacCready’s fine, you know.”

“Not R.J.?”

“For 200 caps? Hell no. If you wanna give me nicknames then pay for premium service.”

“What does premium get me?”

“You can call me any nickname you want, plus, you get a personalized mug that says _The Commonwealth’s Greatest Boss._ ”

“Ha!” 

Whoa. The hell was that? Did I… _laugh?_ Was that an honest-to-God, genuine laugh? I don’t think I’d managed that in the entire year I could remember anything. It caught me so off-guard, in fact, that I dragged myself away from the mattress and scrambled for a cigarette. 

“Hey,” said MacCready. I paused and held the lighter in front of my smoke, pack of cigarettes in my right hand. “Just smoked my last one while I was on watch. Bum one from you?” 

Two, three days ago and I would have been annoyed, but…

“Sure, kid,” I rasped, and handed one over, lighting his and then mine. I snapped the flip-lighter shut and pocketed it and the pack. Jesus it was freezing. It must have been around five in the evening because it was already getting dark. The hazy, blue dusk was closing in, and it was starting to rain.

I walked over to a window and watched the sprinkles hit the potholes below. I hated winter. It always got dark too early. By the time five or six rolled around, it felt like it was time to pack it in for the night, but packing it in so early didn’t make me any caps. I heaved a sighed and rolled the cigarette butt between my lips, inadvertently brushing against my stubble with my left hand. Damn. Time to shave. I must have looked terrible with that five – heh, more like ten – o’clock shadow and that beat up face.

“Eugh.” 

I glanced over my shoulder. “You say somethin’?”

“Huh? Oh, no, just cold.” 

Sure enough, he was shivering. That old, ratty duster of his wasn’t doing him any favors. The kid had his knees clenched together, hands digging into his pits. His cigarette hung from his lips that were trembling so bad I thought he’d drop it. 

I immediately rolled my eyes. “Jesus. Just take it.” Before he could ask what I was talking about, I peeled my coat off, trotted over to him, and flung it around his shoulders. The look on his face was priceless. I couldn’t tell if he was flattered, offended, or both. 

“Uh, thanks?”

“Uh, you’re welcome?” I rebuked, down to my white t-shirt.

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never really had a guy offer me his coat before. Or a girl. Or, uh, anyone, come to think of it.”

“Did I make you uncomfortable? Because I’m trying my hardest, and I’m going to be sorely disappointed if –”

I was interrupted by a bout of laughter breaking through his clattering teeth. I think that’s when I noticed that he was missing one up top, sort of near the back, and that he had a tiny gap between the two in front. It was charming, I had to admit. 

“Yeah, a little, but hey, I’m warmer now, so…”

“So time to get that hunting rifle from Trinity Plaza?”

“Hey, you lead, I follow. Pretty simple arrangement.”


	4. It's Nothing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and MacCready delve into the old church in Trinity Plaza. The ambiance of the chapel dredges up old feelings that makes Jack question his faith.

I expected to be met with a rain of gunfire as soon as I walked through the doors. Instead, all there was was a single supermutant and his noble hound. Mutey carried a giant board, but MacCready sniped him before it became an issue. The hound was quicker and charged without reprieve. I held my ground, dodged its lunge, and kicked its face in. The thing toppled over just long enough for me to shoot from the hip and land one right between its eyes. 

“Hey, not a bad shot!” sang the merc. 

I gave a compliant nod and holstered my gun. “Likewise.” 

Everything was quiet now, save the dripping meat bags and old wood that creaked under the cold-pressure. I stared over the church. Rows and rows of pews stretched down either side of the aisle, and a huge, oak font stood majestic at the base of the pulpit. The last light of the dreary day shone through the stain-glass windows on the second story, casting dark, blue shadows over the balcony. I was stunned to find beauty left over in the world.

I took some steps forward, glancing in each of the pews. Judging by the skeletons scattered throughout, there was a mass going on when the bombs fell. What a serendipitously morbid way to go; thanking God for all that is good in life, only to be fried like a tostada.

By the time I approached the font, autopilot had taken over. I dipped my fingers inside of it and went to apply the holy water to my forehead in the shape of a cross. I paused. Wait. Why did I do that? 

When I glanced down, I realized that my fingers were red. Either the ‘holy water’ filling the font was actually human blood squeezed out of the supermutant’s dinner, or Jesus had performed quite the miracle. I made a face and wiped the blood away on my jacket. Disgusting.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked MacCready, approaching from behind.

“Honestly, kid, I have no idea.”

“Is that a religious thing, or?”

“Yeah. Hm. Did I believe in God before…?” Before the amnesia. I stopped to scoff, gazing around the broken chapel. “I mean, how can you look at all of this,” I gestured to the building, to the apocalypse, “and justify believing? There is no God. At least not anymore.”

It was so quiet that my own words echoed back at me. It was like a stranger had said them. Deep, miserable guilt rooted itself in the pit of my stomach. I looked over my shoulder at the big, bronze cross that had managed to survive the bombs. It looked back at me. My God, it was so vast, so…looming. 

“Uh oh,” I said, “I think I’m Catholic. Oh God damn it.”

“Hey, you never know,” mused MacCready, tilting his head to gaze over the bronze icon. “There could be something more.”

I chuckled. “You know what? You’re right. I think there is something more.” I ascended the trio of stairs and squatted over the supermutant corpse behind the pulpit, plucking a familiar piece of ordnance from his cold clutches. “Like this hunting rifle, and maybe some caps if we’re lucky.” 

“Well then, let’s hope these church-goers were generous with their donations. Wonder where they’d keep them.”

“In the sacristy, probably. Let’s take a look around.”

Figured the sacristy was locked. MacCready and I split up and set to work finding a key. Maybe there was a dead priest or something with a way in. I looked and looked and looked, even going so far as to check the supermutant’s pockets, but no luck. After a while, I decided to call it quits and went to go find MacCready. 

The bombs had shattered the floor. I climbed down the slope to the sublevel, dodging jagged pieces of wood on my way down. Dust stirred around my boots as I landed with a thud at the bottom. After the echo of my fall had subsided, a strange noise caught my attention. It sounded like static, or maybe shuffling, or…crying? No, that wasn’t right. 

I quietly walked across the room when I saw it: MacCready was standing inside of a decimated nursery. Cribs and toys and tiny skeletons were littered across the once-colorful carpet. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was silently sobbing. I stood and watched in my own silence. His shoulders shook, face buried in his hand with his opposing one holding up his elbow.

I wasn’t sure what to do or say. If I moved, he’d probably hear me, so I didn’t. If I said something, I’d interrupt his…his…whatever was happening. I guess he became aware of my presence anyway – eyes on his back and all that – because he turned around and wiped his sleeve across his face.

“Uh, it’s nothing…just…just got something in my eye.”

“Yeah.” 

He cleared his throat. “No key here, boss. Any luck on your end?”

“Nope. Found a screwdriver though.” I unpocketed it and waved it around, opting to play along with his excuse and move forward with our mission. Maybe he had a kid sibling or something who died. Whatever the case, it wasn’t my business. 

We got to work on prying open the door hinges. The rust was atrocious. Finally, I settled for shooting the knob. Part of me wondered if one of these days the bullet wouldn’t ricochet back and kill me. Seemed a fitting death: some jerk like me getting his brains blown out trying to break into crap. Not today, though. Today, the old knob broke and the only downside was the ringing in my ears. 

The door creaked open. Sure enough, the sacristy was filled with once-golden bowls of offerings. There was only one problem. “Right,” sighed MacCready, “these guys used dollar bills, not caps. Well, at least we scored some toilet paper.” 

Just as he went to reach for one of the plates, I snatched his wrist. I think I was just as surprised as he was, me for grabbing him like that and him for…well…for me grabbing him like that. 

“Uh…”

“Leave it,” I insisted.

“Okayyy. Mind if I ask why?”

I let go of his arm and glanced over at the bowls. All of those corpses down there had sacrificed that money for the benefit of others. True, I knew some of it would have ended up lining the pockets of the clergy, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that those bowls were living proof that selfless acts existed at some point in time. Wiping our asses with those dollars would have been sacrilege. And coming from me, that was saying something. If only I could have communicated that to MacCready.

“Just leave it.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. I’m just gonna chalk this up to you and your whole ‘Catholicism’ thing and leave it at that.”

Good. Because I didn’t understand it myself. What good did leaving old-world money behind do? Mark my words: I was gonna eat some bad brahmin, run out of TP, and curse myself for being sentimental. There was, however, something of use in the room. 

“Ever take communion before, kid?”

“Communion? Isn’t that some kind of food thing?”

I snatched a goblet, a bottle of wine, and a pack of stale wafers from one of the shelves. “Come on.”

A couple minutes later and we were back by the pulpit. I stood with my back turned to it, presiding over the congregation of skeletons, radroach carapaces, and the lone mercenary. “Please stand for the hymn.”

MacCready snickered and stood up. “Wow. And here I was starting to think you were a total stick in the mud. Ever stop to think maybe you were a priest before?”

“Well I do like seeing men on their knees.”

MacCready’s smile fell and his eyes turned into giant saucers before he turned the same shade of red as a tato. I was sure he was going to turn maroon once I started singing.

_“Deliver me from my enemies, O my God; protect me from those who rise up against me. Deliver me from those who work evil; from the bloodthirsty save me.”_

But he didn’t. He just stood there with a shimmer in his eyes, one I could only see by the light of my pipboy and the single candle left over from the supermutant at the base of the pulpit. “Wow…that was actually pretty good…” 

Ugh. What was I even doing? I was singing old hymns in an abandoned church, forcing my hire to listen to me. What was this, some kind of post-war, apocalyptic, Jesus-themed karaoke? I was a wreck. 

I cleared my throat, brushing off his compliment, and said, “Communion time, bitches.” MacCready approached me. “This is the Body of Christ, ordered in bulk from All-Things-Catholic, a for-profit organization in Jersey whose sole purpose is to line the pockets of rich white people everywhere. Accept this stale wafer and repent.” 

“Wait, am I actually supposed to –”

“Open your mouth, sinner.” I crammed the white, round cracker between his lips before he had a chance to protest. He half-laughed, half-grunted. “This is the Blood of Christ, bought from the local Super Duper Mart. It was on sale for twenty caps. Drink and enjoy the sweet, refreshing taste of our Lord and Savior.” I held out the goblet.

“Ew,” he said, and choked down the wafer with a cough, “there’s dust all over that thing.” 

“Do you wanna go to heaven or not?”

“Depends. Where are you going?”

“Oh, definitely hell.”

“Alright then, gimme the goblet.” I tilted it back and he drank the communion wine. “Huh. I’ve had worse. Now what?”

I held out my pointer and middle finger, making the sign of the cross, and said, “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us of our trespasses and for drinking the rest of the communion wine straight out of the bottle.” I picked it up off the ground – it had been sitting at my feet – and took a hefty swig. “And lead us not into temptation, or do, because there’s nothing fun to do in the apocalypse. Amen.” 

“Amen,” chanted MacCready. “Well boss, I dunno if you’re going to hell, but I’m pretty sure you just got a lifetime ban from heaven.”

“Probably.” 

MacCready held out his hand. I obliged and passed him the bottle. He filled up the goblet and handed the bottle back over to me. “Well, it’s getting late. Maybe we should look for shelter.”

I raised a thick eyebrow and glanced up at the roof over my head. Was this not shelter? But when I looked back over at him, I could tell something was wrong. That’s when I remembered seeing him crying down there in that old nursery. He looked like he wanted to protest, but doing so might make him vulnerable. Well, I still didn’t want to broach the subject with him, but the issue – whatever it was – was obviously weighing on him. 

“You know, now that I think about it, this place is pretty musty. Besides, there’s not even a bed in here.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed. I knew there was more to it, but I let him have this one. “We could always head back over to that abandoned house, although it was kind of cold and leaky.”

“What is it, seven, eight o’clock?”

He checked his watch. I snickered. Wow, a functioning timepiece in the apocalypse? Who knew. 

“Yeah, a quarter past seven,” he answered. “Guess we could look for better shelter. Nothing I love more than hiking in the rain anyways.”


	5. I'll Be Straight With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeking shelter from the rain, Jack and MacCready end up in a feral-infested tunnel with too much time and alcohol on their hands. MacCready's morbid confessions steer their relationship in a more complicated direction.

There was still plenty of time to find shelter. How hard could it be? Sure it was dark and raining, but it was relatively early and there had to be a bed around somewhere. But no matter where we went, there was nothing. 

It was pouring, thunder and lightning crackling in the sky as MacCready and I bounced like pinballs from awning to awning. And to make matters worse, we’d find a bedframe with no mattress or a roof with nothing underneath but a cold, concrete floor. It was like we were always right on the precipice of finding acceptable shelter, but it was never enough.

I was freezing my balls off without my jacket. At one point I opened my mouth to ask for it back, but right when I did, MacCready took another swig of the bottle and shivered. “Thanks again for the jacket.”

Damn it. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

“Well, at least we’ve got this wine to keep us warm.” 

Yeah, at least we had that. We passed the bottle back and forth until it was finished. We were pretty put off when it was, too, because we _still_ hadn’t found shelter. But hey, that’s what hip flasks are for, right? I pulled mine out and for the first time all year, I shared my drink with somebody.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around, MacCready and I were pretty wasted. Him especially. He couldn’t have weighed more than 130 pounds soaking wet, and believe me, he _was_ soaking wet. We were so miserable that we were both laughing about it, cackling into the stormy night as we clambered down a steep bank of concrete. Was that the Mass Pike Tunnel? Damn. It looked so different at night. And had we really strayed that far off the beaten path?

Two sets of boots stomped through the water under the tunnel, laughter echoing off the walls. “Oh man, I can’t believe you seriously gave me communion back there.”

“Makes two of us. After you.” I held the corrugated door open for him. The mercenary drunkenly tipped his hat and stumbled into the tunnel. I followed suit, albeit with better balance. 

“Gross,” he complained not two seconds after the door closed shut. “This whole place smells like wet feral.” And not two seconds after that, an entire onslaught of feral ghouls emerged from every shadow of the place, water dripping from their cavernous nostrils and the corners of their withered lips.

“Nice job, moron, you summoned a hoard.”

“What?! No I didn’t! How was I supposed to know there’d be ferals down here?”

I snickered and drew my pistol. I didn’t keep smiling for long, though. There had to be six, maybe ten of those things, all aware of our loud, drunken presence. One squalled, followed by another, and soon, a cacophony of raspy breaths were erupting off of every wall. 

“Euuugggghhhh shut up!” cried MacCready. He looked furious. Before I could even shoot, the mercenary’s gun was cocked, locked, and the bullets were flying. Even sloshed, MacCrady could really shoot. One feral went down in a split second, and the butt of his rifle smashed into the face of another one that had hightailed it in his direction.

I kept pace as best I could, poising my gun arm against my right forearm and firing. Two shots – one missed – and the first feral went down. The next one I nailed on the first try. The next I missed altogether and had to back into a wall to avoid being pounced. The feral tripped into the shallow water and I nailed it in the back of the head. Three down. How was MacCready doing?

When I glanced up, I saw that he had brutally bashed in the skull of the feral that had challenged him. He went to shoot another but it was too quick; it tackled MacCready to the ground and lunged for his face. 

“Shit!” I hissed. 

I aimed my gun but stopped myself before I could shoot. If I was drunk enough to miss, there was a very real chance I’d hit MacCready instead. I didn’t want to risk it. Instead, I tossed my gun aside and full-on tackled the ghoul off of him, seizing the thing by the face and smashing it against a nearby barrel until it was stunned. This gave MacCready enough time to snatch his rifle and blast the thing’s head to bits. (Guess he trusted his aim more than I trusted mine considering I was in such close quarters.) My ears rang, but at least it was dead. 

I looked back up and suddenly yelled, “Duck!” MacCready didn’t question it. He did as I commanded, allowing me the opportunity to punch the oncoming ghoul right in the face. This also allowed me the opportunity to trip and knock both myself and MacCready over into the water. 

“Damn!” he hollered. “Leg’s hit bad!” Oops. 

I had to think quick, because that feral was getting back up, and at least two more were headed our way. And my gun was way, _way_ too far away to reach. Thinking on my feet, I snatched MacCready’s gun, cocked it, and fired a shot at the nearby ghoul. 

“Ah, my head!” he exclaimed. “Ears…ringing…” 

“I’m sorry! Just! Ugh!” I shoved the gun back into his arms and scrambled for mine, having to step over MacCready and dodge a feral on the way. Right before I snagged it, my heart jumped into my throat. I looked down. A blinking, red light was flashing from under the water, followed by a high-pitched beeping noise. “Ohhh shit.”

All I could think to do was kick it. If I didn’t, I’d die anyway; the least I could do was try and get the thing as far away from myself as humanly possible. And so I punted it like I was a motherfucking placekicker, like scoring that point would win the Superbowl _and_ save my life.

Well, kicking stuff from underneath the water is hard. Fortunately, it worked to a degree. As luck would have it, I fucked the kick up so badly that the thing ricocheted off of the concrete island meant to divide oncoming traffic and bounced through the window of an old, broken down Corvega. The mine exploded, and the body of the car kept any debris from flying out and hitting me. Of course, there was the issue of the engine being on fire and the impending explosion, so…

“Run!” I screamed.

MacCready had just finished capping the last remaining ghoul when he made a horrified face and scrambled to his feet. He was limping like crazy. “Crap crap crap!” he repeated. I rolled my eyes, swept in, and jerked my arm around his waist, helping him along. We had barely, _barely_ made it down the tunnel far enough to round that corner when the car exploded from the other side of the wall. The air smelled like flames, smoke, and charred ghoul. 

“Holy sh - - holy crap!” he hollered past the ringing in his ears. I could barely hear him through mine. We leaned against the wall, my arm still around his waist. After the noise died down and the smoke settled, we exchanged glances, grinned, and burst into laughter. 

We almost died! 

MacCready looked terrible, drunkenly swaying with his gun in his hands, leaning miserably on one leg and snickering; me with my beat-up face, soaked with dark bags under my eyes, no doubt. We must have been a sight to see. 

The good news was that there was a room off to the side – some kind of storage room or something – with a single bed, frame and all. And just outside of that room was a cooking spit. God bless whatever scavver had set up shop before, because there was oil and matches waiting for us when we arrived. Not to mention the suitcase full of clothes. They didn’t fit great, but there were two pairs of sweatpants inside and MacCready and I were more than happy to sacrifice a poor fit – his being too loose and mine too tight – in order to dry our wet clothes by the fire. 

At that point in time, we had managed to collect a few stimpaks. MacCready healed up while I put some Cram over the stove and took a smoke break. After he was feeling a little better, he joined me. 

“Well that sure as hell sobered me up,” he said, taking a seat on the ground next to the fire.

“Got a fix for that.” I plucked a fresh bottle of bourbon off the ground.

“Oh man, this place has everything. Besides, I always did feel more comfortable with a rocky ceiling over my head.” 

“Yeah, I mean, that’s a normal thing to think.” I handed off the bottle. I think he was still a little tipsy because my snark flew right over his head. “How’s the leg?”

“Better.”

“Didn’t mean to trip over you like that.”

“Hey, accidents happen. Part of the job, right? Man…” he took a heavy swig, ending with a hiss and a face. “I hate ferals.”

“No kidding.”

There was that look again, the same one he had when I suggested we sleep in the church. It was this distant, almost sad kind of look, one born of cluttered thoughts. I wondered if he hadn’t had a bad run-in with feral ghouls in the past. Either way, my own thoughts shifted back to earlier at the church, when I caught him having a moment in the nursery. I must have been getting a little too drunk myself, because I asked,

“Why were you crying?”

MacCready looked away. Whatever happiness he felt during our moment of laughter flicked off like a light. “None of your goddamn business.”

I held out my hands. “Whoa. Sorry I asked.”

Things got quiet after that. I tried not to focus on the sting I felt inside. What was my problem? So he didn’t want to talk about it. Big deal. Why should I feel bad for his jerkish words? But I did, and I wasn’t sure why I even cared.

I took the bottle back and drank, watching the shadow of the flames dance across the gray walls. MacCready was shirtless and hatless, staring at said wall with a dire look across his face. He looked too young to have that look. It was a look I often had myself, and I felt like shit day in and day out. It wasn’t fair. Maybe it was for a thirty year old like me, but not for a kid.

“MacCready?”

He glanced at me.

“Why were you crying?”

First, he glared. I thought he was going to tell me off or something. Then, his expression softened and he frowned, staring longingly into my dark eyes with his bright ones. “Why do you care?”

I didn’t have an answer. I mean, I did – I thought he was too young to be looking that world-weary – but I couldn’t articulate it. I was terrible at that. Instead, I said, “Come on. What’s going on?”

He snatched the bottle back and drank. A _lot._ He coughed and I grabbed the bottle back before he could do any more damage. I guess that’s what he needed to start talking, though.

“I don’t usually go around sharing stuff like this, especially with people I don’t really know, but you’ve been pretty straight with me so I’m going to be straight with you. When I left the Capital Wasteland, I didn’t just leave Little Lamplight behind…I left my family behind. Had a beautiful wife named Lucy, and a son we named Duncan.”

A _kid?_ He had a _kid?_ But he _was_ a kid! “And you just…left them behind?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he explained, those wrinkles forming on the bridge of his nose again. “My son…he’s sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. One day he’s playing out in the fields behind our farm…the next, he took a fever and these blue boils popped up all over his body. Last I saw he was almost too weak to walk. I didn’t dare ask him to come with me. Honestly, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last.” 

Suddenly, images of the infant from my dreams flashed in my mind. I squinted my eyes as though I were trying to see his face better. That’s when I realized I had applied a sex to the child. He. The child was a boy. Who was he? Why did MacCready’s story stir up those dreams, those memories?

I shook my head, pushing my thoughts aside for the time, and said, “Maybe you should find a doctor?”

“Every doctor I talked to was worthless!” he snapped. “They never even heard of the disease! I don’t need them! I need someone like _you._ ” He ended on desperate, pleading note. “If you’re willing to risk it, I might have a way we can save him.”

“How risky are we talking?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, it’s no walk in the park. If it was easy, I would have already done it myself. Look, I really need your help on this one. Duncan needs you too.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. A day ago we were barely on speaking terms, and now this? It was a lot to ask. 

“A few weeks ago,” he continued, “I bumped into a guy named Sinclair who claimed his buddy caught some kind of disease. I thought he was wasting my time until he said his partner broke out in blue boils. They dug up information about a cure at a place called Med-Tek Research. They even managed to grab the building’s lockdown security codes. Unfortunately, Sinclair’s buddy died before they were able to break into the facility. I mean there’s no way that’s a coincidence, right? Med-Tek has to be the place. That’s where we need to go, otherwise…” he sighed. “I got nothing else.”

I scratched my stubble. “Huh. Alright. I’ll do it.”

“What? Really?!” he exclaimed, flailing in such a colorful manner that he knocked over the bourbon. I picked it up and kept most of it from spilling.

“Sure. On one condition.”

His smile was replaced with a cautious draw of his lips.

“Tell me the truth: this was your idea all along, wasn’t it? This is why you were so picky about who hired you.”

He swallowed. _Hard._

“You were vetting me, weren’t you? Your plan was always to ask for my help.”

He sighed a relenting sort of sigh. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Heh. I gotta say, I’m kind of impressed. Not only did you score some free help, but _I_ actually paid _you._ Ain’t that some shit.”

“Look, you can have the caps back…”

“Hey, you saved me from those raiders when I was sick earlier. Consider us square.” I stood up and dusted off my palms. Then, I lowered my voice. “But if you ever pretend to give a shit about me to further your own agenda, then we’re done, MacCready.” 

He looked like I’d slapped him across the face. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

I hovered over him, snatching the bottle from the ground and tossing back another drink. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, pointing at him with the index finger on my occupied hand and waving the bottle dramatically toward his face. “Making me open up to you about my memory loss, about my shitty past. Fuck, I _sang_ in front of you!” Jesus I was drunk.

“Hey!” he shouted, rising to his own feet. I think the alcohol hit him all at once. He staggered and collided with the wall, ignoring his noodle-legs and slurring, “I diddin _make_ you tell me anything! Jeez! Maybe I jush wannid to know a little about you, you shelf-absorbed prick!”

“Oh, I’m self-absorbed? You’re the one who’s getting paid to order someone else around.”

“You jush said we’re square! Are you a liar too?!”

“You’d know all about being a liar, wouldn’t you, you little drunk? You can’t even be straight with me for five seconds.” 

“Well you can’t be shtraight at all!” I narrowed my eyes. “Yeah! ‘Sright! I’m callin’ you gay! Shuck it ash hole!”

“What’s wrong with being gay?”

“Huh?” I had caught him completely off guard. “I mean, nothing, really…I jush thought…you know…shince we’re inshult…inslutting…”

“Since we’re insulting each other?”

“Yeah.” He wobbled and sank back down onto his ass. “Oh, wait, you’re ashkully gay huh?” He snickered. “Oh man, I thought you were messhing wiff me earlier, you know, when you were shaying all that stuff about the hot metal guys and when you gave me your jakkit…” MacCready stopped smiling. “Wait. Were you really flirdding with me?”

“Okay. Time for bed idiot.” I peeled him off the ground like a wet piece of laundry stuck to the floor after escaping the wrath of the dryer. There was no way he was usually that heavy, but drunk, dead weight was really something else. He protested the entire time, alternating between apologies for his tactless joke and saying he was fine to stay up and keep watch, which he most certainly was not. I hoisted him onto the bed and he collapsed with a grunt. 

“Hayy.”

“Yeah.” I grunted too. My back and head were killing me again. 

“Shorry boss.”

I sighed and lowered my head. I took a second to catch my breath, hands on either side of his waist on the mattress to steady myself. “Forget about it. Obviously you and your son are in dire straits. But when I found out you played me just to gain my trust so I’d help you out…”

“I washn’t playing you!” he insisted. I glared. The hell he wasn’t. “I washn’t!” he repeated like he had read my mind. “I like you, shtupid.”

I stopped glaring. “You…like me?” I snorted in disbelief. “Yeah right.”

“I do! Whaddo I have to do to prove it?!”

“I dunno. Sleep?” MacCready’s hands came up to clutch the collar of my jacket. Only I wasn’t wearing a jacket – it was out drying by the fire still – so all he did was smack me in the neck. I flinched and inhaled. He tried again, this time, awkwardly patting me on the face. “Holy shit you’re drunk.”

“Sho’re yuu.”

“What?”

“SHO. ARE. YUU.”

“Not anymore I’m not, thanks to you.” 

“Can I ashk you somefing?”

“One question. Then bed.”

“Are you really into guys?” 

That question came out far clearer than the slurred ones before it. I swallowed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why do you ask?”

“How d’you know?”

“I mean, how do you know you’re attracted to Lucy? You just know. And for record,” I added, waggling a finger at him, “I didn’t know you were straight and married when I flirted with you earlier.”

“She’s dead. Lucy is dead.” His head lulled to the side. “She was ripped apart by ferals in a tunnel. They were on her before I could even fire a shot. Ripped her apart right in front of me. There was nothing I could do. I barely got out with Duncan. Sometimes…sometimes I wish we would have just died down there with her…”

Well fuck me. That dialogue was way above my paygrade. What the hell do you even say to that? I let my mouth hang open. I hadn’t traveled with anyone all year, and suddenly, THIS? “Ah…” I croaked, gently patting MacCready on the leg. “There there.”

His head rolled back in my direction, tears shimmering in his eyes in the dim, electric light. He reached out a rough hand and placed it over mine. At first I thought he was gonna give me a squeeze or some sort of drunk, endearing gesture, one I could use as a segue and say, _good talk, now go the fuck to sleep._

Instead, he guided my hand from his leg slowly up, up, up, until finally, he slid it over his crotch. Right when my eyes shot open, he forced my hand to clamp down over his dick, making me squeeze him through his sweatpants. Accompanying this gesture was a low rasp in the back of his throat, something desperate and wanting. 

I snapped my hand back and lunged off the bed. “No.” 

“Wh…why? Did I do something wrong?” He sat up quickly on his elbows. 

Trying my best to avoid staring at the bulge in his pants, I swallowed and said, “Look…ordinarily, no. But you’re so drunk, MacCready.”

“Come on, Jack…I _want_ this.”

“Have you ever _been_ with a guy before?”

“Well no but –”

“Not happening. Not tonight. Not like this.” I tilted my aching head back and stared at the ceiling. “Just…get some sleep. Please.”


	6. Flying Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack knows he did the right thing by denying MacCready's drunk advances...but now he's got a problem of his own to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert.

Images flashed through my mind. Gunfire. Power armor. Shouts and commands. Men and women wearing green. An explosion. Flash. There was a man, tall and thin, holding a child. He was in a kitchen with one of those old robots. Another flash. I was freezing, surrounded by metal walls. Icy fog billowed into the air. The child was there. Somebody took it…took _him_ … a doctor and a man with a gun, I think. Then came my voice screaming, “Oh God! Come on come on come on!” I was holding something. It was small and metal. A ring, maybe? And then… **BANG!**

“Ah, fucking fuck!” I gave a brisk huff. Must be three o’clock! I imagined I was driving MacCready insane by now. Where was he, anyway?

I wiped away my sweat, grunted, and pulled myself off of the bed as usual – my bed being the ground by the dying fire – and went to look for MacCready. He was nowhere to be seen. Well, at least my jacket was dry and warm. I slipped it on, lit up a smoke, and grumbled while I went in search of the idiot kid.

About thirty seconds down the tunnel, I stopped and took a drag of my cigarette. I could see him a ways down, kneeling next to the water that streamed down the old highway like a river. Looks like he was regretting that bourbon. Well, better to get it out of his system now than wake up and feel twice as bad. I let the kid puke in peace and returned to the fire. A couple stray Boston Bugles later and I was enjoying the warmth of the new flames.

I finished off my cigarette, helped myself to a snack cake, and leaned my back against the wall. MacCready showed up ten minutes later clutching his middle. 

“Feeling better?” I asked. He looked like he wanted to punch me in the face just for asking. “Wasn’t chiding you. Not this time.”

He groaned. “I’m going back to bed. You should too.”

“In due time.”

“Suit yourself.” He gave a flippant wave and walked through the door of the side room, collapsing on the mattress with a creak.

I wondered if he remembered anything from a couple hours ago. He sure didn’t act like it. I reckoned it was better not to bring it up at all. As soon as I met him I had assumed he liked guys, at least to some degree. Him being in love with a woman didn’t surprise me, but his inexperience with men did. Guess I was proven right when the booze brought out those unexplored feelings inside of him. 

Well shit. What now? I didn’t care to be some drunk’s wet dream. But at the same time, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he took my hand and pressed my palm against his cock. Suddenly, I shivered. Not that I was cold.

I glanced over to the side room. MacCready was already snoring. Eh, fuck it. I blinked, swallowed, and unzipped my pants. 

What would have happened if I had rolled with it? Not that I could have, at least not morally, but what if? Did he just want to be jerked off? I could do that. I could take his dick and stroke him. I could make him happy. Let him lie there and relax while I took him from his pants and ran my fist along his length, the same way I was doing to myself just now. 

I tilted my head back and pumped myself to erection, picturing MacCready the entire time. Would he get those hot little wrinkles on his nose? Would he finally break his habit of not cursing? What if… _what if_ I handled his dick so good that he couldn’t help himself? Would he groan again like he did when I touched his crotch earlier? I had barely touched him at all and he was already telling me how good he felt, just by that sultry, little noise. He must have really, really wanted it.

I ran my fist over my head. _Mierda…_ How could I have abandoned him like that, leaving him there all needy and horny? I pumped myself again. _Oh God…oh fuck…_ All he wanted to do was hook up, experiment a little, let me get him so worked up he needed to…

I tilted my dick to the side because I was getting there fast, and I was seriously about to blow. _Do you think I’m pretty, MacCready? Do I make you wanna get off? Yeah, look at you. I got you all hard, didn’t I? It’s okay, just lie back and take it. You like that? You like when I stroke your cock?_ I clenched my jaw and stifled a groan. Oh God, that pull in my balls. That ebb. That strain.

I imagined his face all pink and contorted, watching me rub and tease him to the point of edging. Maybe I’d settle my hands against that tiny waist of his and grind on him. Maybe I’d do him the favor of sucking him off just so he could experience true bliss. I’m sure he’d gotten oral from women – the guy was handsome as sin – but what about from another man? From someone like me? Strong and confident and demanding in the way I pleased my partners. What would he do if I held him down and forced his cock into my mouth, tugging him closer to the edge with every flick of my hot tongue?

Would I be able to see the precum glistening across his dick like it was on mine? I flicked my thumb over my head and drew a drop onto my skin, plunging it into my mouth and sucking. I lapped it up, resuming heavy strokes of my erection with my off-hand.

_You feel how hot my mouth is around your cock? Oh, MacCready, you must feel so good. When’s the last time somebody sucked you this good? You want me to take you deeper? Is that good? You feel my lips pressed against your balls? My throat squeezing around you? Rock your hips just like that. I know, you can’t stand it, can you? Ah, fuck, you can’t even-_

-stand it. I couldn’t stand it. He was so attractive, and the idea of having his cock in my mouth just…

The next time I pumped myself, a taut and intense pulse surged through my groin. _Oh fuck!_ I failed to suppress a loud groan. A hard rush of cum spilled onto the ground, and with each stroke, another followed. And because I was that sick of a human being, I watched the sleeping MacCready the entire time I was cumming, knowing I had done the right thing by denying him earlier but wishing I was a bad enough person to have made him feel like I was feeling just then: hard, insatiable, and so, so fucking good.


	7. That's No Way To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reporter approaches Jack in Diamond City regarding a lead on his past. Jack thinks back to a difficult time - at least one he can remember - and how a certain mayor saved his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicide.

I smoked a cigarette outside while I waited for MacCready to get up and dressed. Finally, some sunshine. I heard the corrugated door close just when I stomped out my cigarette butt with my boot. “Heh. Hungover, kid?” I eyed him. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin had a nice supermutant tinge to it.

“Look,” he sighed, “I know you’re not paying me to get fucked- eh, screwed up on liquor, so I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Whatever. Not like you were so trashed you couldn’t aim.”

“Oh, believe me, if we’d been jumped by ferals after we drank that bottle of bourbon I wouldn’t have been able to hit a goddamn thing.”

I shrugged. “Well. Don’t let it happen again then.” Is that what he wanted to hear? I didn’t care either way. 

“It won’t,” he insisted.

“Good.” But like I said, I didn’t care. “Ready to head to Med-Tek?”

“Actually, I was hoping to clear the air first.” 

“Alright…” Fun. Let’s see how much of last night he actually remembered.

He looked me right in the eyes. “Look, I know we had a good time back there at the church and when we got drunk and stumbled across the Commonwealth like idiots, but the truth is I don’t know you…and I’m starting to regret telling you all that personal stuff.”

“You afraid I’m gonna judge you or something? Because I couldn’t care less.”

“No, it’s not that. Remember how you told me you were uncomfortable telling me about your memory loss and stuff?” I gave a single nod. “Well, I’m in the same boat, you know. I don’t really make a habit of telling people about myself, about my wife or son. It’s personal. I’m sure you understand that. I know you didn’t intend to tell me about having amnesia until I asked for your full name.” Yeah, that was true. “Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is I’d like to keep our relationship more…professional.”

I snorted. Tittered. “I see what’s happening.”

“Uh…you do?”

“You remember every detail about last night.”

He knew what I was talking about. I could tell. He turned as red as a bottle of Nuka Cherry. “Yeah, well…I was an idiot.”

“Yeah you were,” I snapped. “I may not always make the most sound choices, but I wasn’t about to take advantage of some weepy, bicurious drunk.”

“Hey, I’m telling you I screwed up. You don’t even have to forgive me, but at least acknowledge it and move on instead of calling me names. Keeping it professional typically means my boss doesn’t act like a goddamn five year old.”

I took a step toward him, the shadow from the morning sun cast right over his small, slender frame. “I’m helping _you_ on _my_ dime. Don’t you forget that, MacCready. And considering the fact, I’ll talk to you however the fuck I please. Now pick up your little rifle and man up.” He didn’t say anything, just glared and wrinkled his nose at me. I saw his adam’s apple dip in his throat. “We’ll stop by Diamond City on the way, sell our shit and pick up some ammo. Should reach Med-Tek by tonight.” 

We did not reach Med-Tek that night. MacCready was a wreck. I wished I had kept a better eye on him while he drank, because he was so hungover that he kept making us stop. If I had to listen to him retch one more time I was gonna lose my God damn mind. By the time we arrived in the city it was dark. We barely had time to sell our gear and buy ammo. 

MacCready headed over to the Dugout to get a room and I hung out in the town square to grab a bite. I just wanted to be left alone when suddenly, some rando with a puckish pair of hazel eyes and a newsboy cap approached me. She took a seat on the stool next to mine, lacing her fingers together ‘innocently.’

“What,” I demanded.

“So, you’re that mercenary, right?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Piper Wright.” She held out her hand. I glanced down. The fingers of her gloves were cut off. What was she, some geeky, punk-rock reporter? I rolled my eyes and shook her hand with minimal effort. “I run the Publick, and you’re just the type of guy I want to talk to.”

I took my hand back and said, “Lady, I’m nobody’s ‘type,’” following up my statement by shoving a forkful of noodles in my mouth. 

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re exactly who I need.”

“Five hundred caps.” 

“Uhhh, what?” She gave a nervous chuckle.

I finished chewing my food, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and swiveled my chair to face her. “That’s a base payment. If you’re sending me into an irradiated crater, you’ll pay for my anti-rad meds too. Anything north of the Charles is an extra hundred caps, no haggling, and anything south of Quincy is two hundred. I charge an extra fifty if I end up in a scrap with the Gunners, Brotherhood, or Institute synths – raiders are no extra charge – and that’s _per_ fight.”

“Wait I -” 

“Half the caps up front. The other half I’ll collect when I return, plus any of the aforementioned charges. And don’t give me that ‘Oh, I didn’t mean for you to get attacked by Gunners or the Brotherhood or the Institute’ crap; it happens, it’s never on purpose, and I _always_ charge. ‘But why,’ you may ask.”

“I didn’t!”

“Because I’m the best help you’re gonna find out here. I get things done quick, don’t make excuses, and I always come back alive. So: upfront, two fiddy.”

“Oookay! Not trying to hire you!”

“What?” I glowered. “Then why the fuck are you talking to me?”

“Well I was hoping you could be my next big story, but…” She paused and looked me over, a hesitant kind of expression on her face. “Well you’re a big something alright.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want a headline. Now leave me alone.”

“What if that headline involves finding out more about your past?” I went to scoop up some more noodles and paused before I could take a bite.

“What did you just say to me?”

“Hey, this is Diamond City; word gets around. You’re the lone mercenary with no memory of who he is or where he came from. No name, no past, nothing. A tragedy if I ever heard one.” Sympathy hung on her pretty lips, not that it did me any good. “I’d like to help you out. I did some research, and I have a couple of leads as to where you might have come from. Okay, so my first lead -”

“Stop.”

“But I-”

I dropped my fork into my bowl and pinched the bridge of my nose before turning to her and saying, “Look, Piper, it’s not gonna happen. I’m sorry you wasted your time with all your research, but I’m not interested.”

“What, why?!” she flailed. _Literally_ flailed. “Aren’t you curious about your past? I mean, I’m trying to put myself in your shoes here, and if it were me I’d be dying to know more about-”

“Oh, I am _dying_ to know,” I laughed. Underneath my sleeves, stretching all the way from my wrist to my inner-elbow, was a long, white scar. After spending a few weeks out in the Commonwealth, I learned about the Institute, about synths and how people got replaced all the time. In fact, I had picked up one of Piper’s newspapers, the newspaper whose article made me question my own identity. 

Was I a synth? It made sense. I had no memory, a shitty personality, and hated everyone and everything that crawled out of every rock, settlement and building in the Commonwealth. All I cared about anymore was eating, fucking, and relishing in the five seconds of every day that was bearable enough to not resent everyone and everything. I needed to find out the truth. 

I didn’t know how Gen-3 synths worked. I didn’t know they had human blood. I thought for sure they’d have, I dunno, white goo or something running through their veins. So I took a knife and I cut myself to see. If white stuff came out, I’d know for sure, and if not, I’d bleed out and die; either way, it was a win-win.

I woke up with a stimpak crammed into my arm – enough to save my life but not enough to heal the scar completely – and a ghoul hovering over me. My first thought was: what a funny hat. 

He took me back to Goodneighbor, sat me down on his couch, and said, “What the hell was that?”

I laughed in his face. “The fuck do you care for? And what are you?” I had never seen a ghoul that didn’t try to take a bite out of me first, let alone one dressed like some revolutionary idiot. 

“Heh. You’re obviously in a pretty bad place, brother, so I’m gonna gloss over that little discrepancy this once. Now answer my question. What the _hell_ was that?”

“Just trying to figure out whether or not I’m a synth.” 

“By offing yourself?”

I shrugged. “Wanted to see if I bled blood.”

“Ain’t how that works,” he explained. “Synths look just like you and me. Well, maybe not me. And they bleed red just like anyone else. Besides, you coulda just pricked your finger, but you didn’t, did you? You took it all the way.”

I sat in silence.

“What’s your name, brother?”

I could have explained everything. I could have. But I didn’t have the wherewithal. I didn’t have a name either, though, so I had to think on my feet. I remembered that one asshole caravaneer from the other week saying, ‘Move outta the way jack.’ I grinned. “I’m Jack.”

“Well, Jack, try and understand where I’m comin’ from when I say that I just watched someone try and commit suicide outside my gates. Dying in a gutter with slit wrists ain’t no way to go. What can I do to help?”

“Help?” I scoffed. “What makes you think I’m not beyond help?”

“Hey. You’re here. I’m here. Let’s make it work. So tell me: if you could have one thing right now, what would it be? Not saying I have the means to give it to you, but let’s talk it through and see what happens. What have you got to lose, man?”

I looked into his abyssal eyes. They were so warm for someone who had no whites or irises, only blackness. I caught my own reflection in them. I looked terrible. I mean, I really _looked_ like I wanted to die. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but it actually broke my heart. 

So I entertained the guy. I thought for a few minutes while he leaned against the back of the couch opposite the one I was sitting on. He had his arms folded over his chest, brushing away some lint on his old coat. He let me think in peace. For the first time since I woke up on the ground in the woods under a power pylon up north, I felt like I could take my time. 

“I don’t know. I don’t have anything. I don’t have food or money or a job…”

“So let’s start there. I’ll hook you up with a job, pay you half now and half when it’s done. You can pick up some necessities from Daisy on the way out of town and then check back in with me once the job’s finished. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” I confessed. Well, shit. It was something.

He sent me to some place called the Pickman Gallery. Disgusting. Saw some raider strung up like a chandelier with a hook up his asshole and a functioning lightbulb inside his mouth. (Don’t even ask where the wiring went.) Capped Pickman and came back with the dirty deets. Hancock paid me and urged me to ask around the town if I wanted more work. 

At first, our relationship was fine, but soon it became clear to him that I still didn’t give two shits about anyone other than myself. Daisy asked me to return a book to the library; I got there, cleared the place of mutants, grabbed the loot, and came back to Goodneighbor…with the book still in tow. Daisy was not impressed. Sure, it was an honest mistake – I had just forgotten, that’s all – but how could I have told Daisy or Hancock about my weird headaches or amnesia or how shitty my memory was when I didn’t have any real reasons for my behavior? Then, that guy Kent sent me to pick up some dorky collectables for him and wanted me to ‘become’ the Silver Shroud. Fuck that. How could I have? I didn’t even know who _I_ was, so how could I feel comfortable pretending to be someone else? 

They never knew why I was so distant, so irresponsible. All Hancock knew was that I did the bare minimum. To him and the rest of Goodneighbor, that looked like complacency. To me, I had cripplingly poor long and short term memory, and I was trying my absolute hardest just to get through the day without slitting my own wrists again. 

I grew into my jaded attitude. My sarcasm. My overconfidence. It wasn’t a good look on me. I could tell Hancock wanted to call me out on it, but he never did, probably because he was afraid I’d try and kill myself again. He put up with me because, presumably, he felt it was the best thing he could do for me. But that didn’t stop him from resenting me. I could feel it whenever I was near him which was fewer and farther between these days.

But enough. I had let my thoughts wander too far. I was still sitting there with Piper, who was pressuring me into doing something I wasn’t ready to do. If I found out anything about my past, it wasn’t going to be on her terms. “Look, lady, buzz off. I’m not interested in being in your stupid, little newspaper.” 

“Well…fine!” she exclaimed. “I was just trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Fine!” she repeated. “Come see me when you change your mind, you jerk!”


	8. Helluva Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock is getting suspicious of Jack and his off-putting presence in Goodneighbor. Meanwhile, MacCready has seconds thoughts about his partnership with Jack, who experiences his most intense memory yet. Jack has two choices: either fess up, or kiss his partnership goodbye.

“We did it! Holy crap, we actually did it!” laughed MacCready, clutching at the vial in his hands. “We just gave Duncan a fighting chance to live!”

“Cool.” I brushed the irradiated goop off of my leather jacket. Another day of uncomfortable silence with my hire, followed by trekking through an abandoned hospital full of turrets, angry protectrons, ferals, and glowing ones. What wasn’t to love? “Now what?”

“The last step ahead of us is getting the cure to Daisy in Goodneighbor.”

One more awkward sleep in an old parking garage later, and we were on the way. We rolled into Goodneighbor the following day, Hancock shooting me curious glances as I came through the gate. MacCready sprinted up to Daisy and the two exchanged dialogue. He was crying happy tears, and she looked ecstatic. I lit up a cigarette and watched from a distance, catching a glimpse of my reflection in an oily puddle on the ground. Looked like my bruises were healing alright, but I still looked like trash, and the headaches sucked.

“MacCready, huh?” rasped Hancock. I glanced up. Hadn’t even heard the guy approach. “Helluva gun to have at your back.”

“Kid’s got good aim.”

“What about you? You finally starting to shoot straight?” 

I parted the left corner of my lips and exhaled smoke. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You ain’t yourself.”

I gave one loud, sharp laugh. “Ha! You don’t even know me.”

“I know _people,_ and I know’em good enough to know somethin’s real wrong in your head.”

“Well I _did_ fall three stories and split my head open on a broken shard of metal, so there’s that.”

“Ain’t what I’m talkin’ about and you know it. Who are you, man?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Wrong answer. You keep coming into my town, taking my people’s jobs. You’re doing shoddy work. Pissin’ people off. And now you’re jerking MacCready around?”

“I’m not jerking anyone around,” I insisted. “I paid him,” I glossed over the fact that I paid him less than his initial cost, “and now he works for me. Deal with it.”

“See, though, you _do_. You’ve jerked me around from the start, always dodging questions and laying low. Look, this ain’t me tryin’ to earn gratitude because I pulled you out of the gutter when you were in a bad place. This is about me knowing who the fuck is in my town…” He ended in a low, threatening rumble. Nothing scared me anymore. Until then, that is. There was something stirring in those dark eyes of his that made my stomach turn. “So tell me, Jackie boy, who the _fuck_ are you.”

He wasn’t asking. He was demanding. And if I didn’t tell him, I knew I might end up with a shank between my ribs. And the worst part was that he knew I was terrified. He could smell it on me, I’m sure. 

“Take it easy…” I said.

“Will when you answer the question.”

MacCready and Daisy hugged. They were wrapping up their conversation. I only had a few seconds. “Look, Hancock,” I whispered, blowing out another stream of smoke and speaking quickly, “I woke up in the woods a year ago with no memories, alright? I don’t know who I am. I’m probably a synth or something. Maybe I’m a raider or a Minuteman or some Brotherhood reject, I don’t have a fucking clue.”

His expression softened. “Well shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right, man!” I inhaled sharply. “That’s why I was trying to kill myself, and that’s why I don’t have any God damn answers for you. I can’t remember anything. Even my short-term memory is trash. Remember that quest I picked up for Daisy? Well I forgot to return her stupid book to the library, and I _still_ have it because I’m too embarrassed to bring it up with her!”

I could have sworn he almost laughed.

“Do you know how many times I’ve read it?! Do you know what it’s about, Hancock?!”

He shrugged.

“It’s a fucking romance novel about a hung Scotsman and a busty princess!” This time he did laugh. “Don’t you laugh at me! I’m into guys! Why do I keep reading Daisy’s heteroerotic smut?! Ugh!”

“Okay, okay,” he tittered, holding his palms out to calm me down. I took a deep breath and walked in a circle, tossing my smoke to the ground. “Christ, Jack. Why didn’t you tell me all this, like, a year ago?”

“Because I’m a fucking wreck and I don’t know how to communicate with people any- heyyy MacCready!” I interrupted myself. My reaction must have been a little uncharacteristic, because he looked at me like I was nuts. 

“Yeah. Hi.” He turned to Hancock. His expression changed; it was like watching storm clouds part to reveal a bright, sunny sky. “Hancock! How’s my favorite ghoul in the Commonwealth?”

“Great, man. Got a hot date right now, so I’m gonna go.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s the lucky, uh…well, whatever you’re into?”

“Oh, she’s gorgeous. Sharp little thing with a sweet touch and an even sweeter aftertaste.” 

“Lemme guess. Is your date a syringe full of Med-X?”

“Bingo. I’ll leave you boys to it.” The ghoul swaggered off and disappeared into the Old State House. Huh. If I’d been into ghouls…

After he was gone, MacCready returned to his usual state of compliance. “Well, it’s all taken care of. Daisy says she’s gonna send the cure out with the first caravan she can. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“Here.” He held something out. I opened up my hands and watched the caps clatter into my palms. 

“Did you forget to split some loot or something?”

“No. Here’s the 250 caps you paid me. That’s for risking your neck for me and my son.” 

“I paid you 200.”

“Yeah, well, I’m paying you my hiring fee because I want us to be square. If someone hired me for that dangerous of a job, I would have insisted on 250, non-negotiable.” Sure, I though. ‘Non-negotiable.’ 

“Alright,” I shrugged. “If that’s what it’ll take for us to be even.” I didn’t push it. Wasn’t worth the time or effort. I was tired, he was tired, and I’m sure we were both ready to move onto the next job. Whatever loot we found we could split like we usually did and proceed from there. But for the time, that dialogue with Hancock wasn’t sitting well with me. “I’m gonna go grab a drink at the bar before we head back out.”

“Actually,” he said, that last vowel sound lingering in the air. Uh oh, I thought, what now? “I won’t be going with you.” 

“What?”

MacCready’s lips twitched, but he didn’t look pleased. “Don’t tell me you were happy with our partnership, because you know damn well I wasn’t.”

“What?” I repeated.

“Come on, man, you’re…” he squinted his eyes like he was trying to find the right words. If he was trying to sugar-coat them, I guess he gave up, because he said, “well, you’re pretty disrespectful. I know I wasn’t the best partner either, but some of the stuff you said was really shit- er, really crappy.”

“Oh?” I leaned on one hip and folded my arms indignantly across my chest like some sassy valley girl. “Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he scoffed. He looked pissed. “Like when you said you didn’t even want to hire me in the first place. Or how about the time I was worried you’d get dizzy and hurt yourself, and when I told you to sit down you snapped at me and told me to mind my own business?” 

“I said sorry for that.”

“Sure, for that maybe, but what about when you called me a weepy gay drunk?”

“Bicurious,” I corrected.

“Whatever! My point is that you suck at communicating, whether you’re insulting me or just wasting my time. If you can’t even give me a reason for leaving behind perfectly good toilet paper, how can I expect you to communicate with me about anything?”

“I had a reason for that,” I pointed out. Hell, it was even a half-decent one.

“I’m sure you did, but you don’t talk about it. You just order me around and insult me, and as much as I appreciate you helping me save my son’s life, we make shitty partners, Jack.” He didn’t even try covering that curse up. Ouch. Why did that sting? That _really_ stung. “Besides, I...well I still feel like an idiot for the way I acted when I was drunk. I guess I’m not really over it, and I think it’d be best if I had some space.”

I swallowed.

“Anyway, no hard feelings, alright? It wasn’t like it was all bad, but-”

“Oh come on, don’t.”

He stopped. “Don’t?”

“Don’t. Don’t end this yet.”

“Why the hell not?” he chided. “Don’t know why I’m wasting my time. You obviously don’t give a damn what I have to say about anything.”

_“You don’t give a damn, do you?!” shouted the tall man with the glasses. He pushed them up on the bridge of his nose. “Well figure it out, or this marriage is over!”_

_“Babe…”_

_“No. Either we pay for a surrogate, or I walk. I told you I wanted kids right from the get-go.”_

_“You’re still in law school! We can’t afford-”_

_“You know damn well we can! This isn’t about money, this is about your own insecurity, isn’t it?”_

_I glared at him, at – what was his name? – and shouted, “Maybe it is! Maybe I don’t want you shooting your load into your ex!”_

_“We’ve been over this,” he explained. “I was with Diane back in high school before I came out. I like men, baby.”_

_“You like men, and you like the idea of having a fucking baby with your ex-girlfriend. Yeah, that’s normal.”_

_“We’re friends! She has a master’s degree, doesn’t drink or do drugs, and works out every day. She’s the perfect candidate! Plus, she’s someone I trust.”_

_“Yeah, more than you trust your own husband.”_

_“You know that isn’t true. Come on. Just talk to her. Give her a chance. If you hate the idea, we don’t have to use Diane.”_

_I stopped and looked at the carpet. “I dunno, [ugh what was his name?]”_

_“Come on, N-[what was MY name?!] Try. For me?”_

“Oh fuck.” I staggered, hitting my back against the wall of settlement. Boards clunked under my weight. Christ, my head…

MacCready dropped the attitude. “Uh…what’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer. I flung my hand over my mouth and wrenched myself out of the front gate. I ended up slouched over right in the same place where, a year ago, I had tried to end my own life. That was the most intense, thorough memory I’d had thus far, and they _never_ cropped up outside of dreams. It was too much. The headache, the sensory overload, the sharp twinge of anxiety lodged in my throat. I clasped my hand over my chest and focused on breathing, because if I didn’t, God only knows I’d puke or scream. 

I was certain I’d just ruined everything between me and MacCready. I don’t know what compelled him to follow me out there. If I were in his shoes, I would have let me walk. That’s what he wanted, right? And end to the partnership? The gate to Goodneighbor closed shut and the merc’s voice came from behind me.

“Dude, what is _with_ you? And you’d better be straight with me, because I’m not going to go out on another limb like this.”

 _Oh, fuck you!_ I thought. _Fuck you and your shitty attitude, you two-bit mercenary! Fuck off and never talk to me again! Just let me wallow!_

But no. Not today. If I kept having that attitude, I was going to come undone. I was going to keep making mistakes, keep living a miserable life, and keep fucking up. I had to tell him the truth. If I didn’t, I would prove him right, prove that I couldn’t communicate, and it’d all be over.

“Just…lemme catch my breath…”

“Fine,” he said in obvious annoyance. 

I took a second but made it as quick as I could, wiping away the same kind of cold sweat I got whenever I had those night terrors. Then, I leaned against the wall and reached for my pack of cigarettes. Empty. I stuffed the pack back in my pocket and heaved a sigh. “Memories.”

“Memories? What do you mean?”

“Think I was married.”

“Oh.” He tempered his expression. “Do you get memories like that a lot?”

“Never,” I confessed. “That was the first real memory I’ve ever had outside of my nightmares.” I fidgeted with the pack of smokes in my pocket, thumbing over the carton’s flap. “I have a name.” 

“Oh yeah. Think you mentioned Jack’s not your real name. So what is it?” 

I shook my head. “I’m not sure. Something with an N, I think.”

“Nick?”

I tilted my head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

“Norman?”

“Nah… Eh, it doesn’t matter.”

MacCready shrugged. “Well maybe you’ll remember it. Do you remember your wife?” I glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, right,” he corrected, “your husband I mean.” 

“Not his name. He was tall, with glasses.”

“Maybe he’s still out there somewhere.”

“No. See, that’s the thing,” I said, taking my hand out of my pockets and gesturing. “As crazy as it sounds, I think I was married… _before_ the bombs.”

“Say what?”

“I know that sounds insane, but in all of my dreams…my memories…everything looks like it did before the war. Everything is clean and in-tact. I can tell you how to run a washer and dryer even though I have no memories of doing a load of laundry; I can tell you how to drive a car; I know what a fully-stocked fuel station looks like, or what it’s like to go through a drive-thru; I know what a mall looks like during Christmas, with the big wreath up front and all the lights inside, the smell of pretzels and clean linoleum…”

“Maybe you just have a really wild imagination,” suggested MacCready. Not a particularly helpful suggestion, but he wasn’t trying to be rude about it.

“Maybe…” I mused, knowing he was wrong somehow. “Anyway…”

“Well, at any rate, thanks for being honest with me. I hope you get your memories back and that it’s not too painful a process.”

I went to say thank you, but instead, I let my mouth hang open. I didn’t want MacCready to leave. I wanted him there at my side. Why? I had no idea. He was right: we didn’t really get along all that well. Sure, we had our moments, but he had a past, I had a past, and the attitudes formed by said pasts clashed like lightning and thunder. 

“Here. Hold out your hands,” I said. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just hold them out.” He did as I asked, albeit with hesitance. I counted out 250 caps. He opened his mouth to thank me or protest or something when I said, “Wait,” and counted out 250 more.

“I don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. There were so many caps in his hands that they were spilling onto the ground. I helped him pick them up as he stuffed them into one of his duster pockets. After I plucked the final two or three from the ground, I said,

“There’s your non-negotiable, 250 cap hiring fee, and there’s the 250 you gave me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he argued. Those crinkles were back on his nose. “Even if I considered letting you hire me again, we should be at an even zero. You hired me, then I hired you, remember?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s the initial 250, plus your money back. You asked for help and I should have just helped you. If I were desperate…” I swallowed. I felt like crying. “…if I were desperate, I’d want someone there to have my back, too. No questions asked.”

“So, what? You’re saying you helped me get through Med-Tek as a favor to me?”

“And your son.” I gave MacCready a long, hard stare. “I think that I…God…I think I’m a father.”

His eyes shot open. “Really? Do you have memories of a kid, or?”

“Well either he’s my son or a really ugly cat.”

MacCready actually laughed. Once his laughter died down, he tilted his head to the side. “Well…alright. The scales still feel a little unbalanced, but I’ll give it another shot.”

“Thank you. And please…be patient with me.”

“Alright, but that road goes both ways.”

“Course.”

“Consider me hired, then. You do have a job in mind, right?”


	9. That...Was Amazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack knows it wasn't an easy decision for MacCready to give him another shot like that. It an attempt to get over himself, Jack starts asking for MacCready's opinions. His opinions lead them both into an abandoned house. And turning in early means they can do whatever they'd like with the evening at hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutttttt smutsmutsmut smut.

“That’s it?” asked MacCready, covering his mouth with his forearm. He breathed through the fabric on his duster to filter out the putrid odor of rotting supermutant corpses. 

“That’s it.” 

I had cleared the Boston Public Library of mutants a long time ago, but not long enough for their decaying bodies to stop smelling. We left before the stench sank into our clothes. 

“That was sweet of you, boss,” said MacCready. He blew a big, pink bubble and kept on a’chewin’, walking at my side toward the sunset. It was the same color as his gum.

“Yeah, well, I told Daisy I’d return that book months ago. Was too prideful to tell her I forgot.”

“Daisy’s a doll. She’ll understand. I bet you feel better now that that’s out of the way, huh?”

I smiled. I did, actually. For the first time in a while, I felt a sense of tired hope, like maybe I wasn’t fucked up beyond repair. After speaking with Hancock, I felt like he didn’t actually hate me. And the next time I ran into Daisy, I could give her the good news, tell her I did the right thing. That being said, all this mushy-gushy reality bullshit was wearing on me. I was exhausted. 

A couple minutes passed in silence when finally I asked, “Mind if we call it an early night? I know we’re not making any caps sitting with our thumbs up our asses, but…”

“Hey, you hired me, chief.”

“Yeah. Well. Earlier, you told me I don’t give a damn about what you have to say. Suppose I’m hoping to prove you wrong.”

“Oh.” He blinked and stopped chewing. “Well, thanks. I actually really appreciate that.”

“You had every right to call it quits, but you didn’t. It’s the least I can do.”

My five-foot-six partner blinked again before glancing up at my head. “Another migraine?”

I guess I’d been massaging my temples. I hadn’t noticed. My headaches were just one more element of the day ever since I woke up in the woods a year ago, and they were worse ever since I fell off of that building. Ordinarily I tried to ignore them and press on; didn’t want to complain. I swallowed and nodded, shamefully jerking my hands into my pocket.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Come on. Since it’s clear out, that house in Trinity Plaza should do the trick.”

Ten minutes later and we were back on the second story of that old house, the one where I slept off my last migraine. I lied on my back with my arm over my face, electing to ignore the ‘just in case’ pot that MacCready placed beside my bed. Where did he even find that thing? How very, very humiliating. But he insisted, you know, in case I was nauseous again. I guess it was sweet in its own way. Either way, I didn’t need it, and I fell into a deep sleep.

Images flashed through my mind. Gunfire. Power armor. Shouts and commands. Men and women wearing green. An explosion. _Flash._ There was my husband, tall and thin, holding our son. He was in a kitchen with one of those old robots. _Another flash._ I was freezing, surrounded by metal walls. Icy fog billowed into the air. My son was there. Somebody took him, a doctor and a man with a gun, I think. Then came my voice screaming, “Oh God! Come on come on come on!” I was holding something. It was small and metal. A ring, maybe? _Wait, another flash?_ There was MacCready, drawing my hand up over his crotch, groaning, forcing my palm against his cock. I groaned too, naked, gyrating my hips against his leg. I rubbed him, squeezed him. He groaned again. Jerked his hips. “I’m gonna cum, boss...” And then… **BANG!**

My eyes shot open, but this time I didn’t scream. The sweat was there and my heart was racing, but the latest addition to my terrors was just confusing enough to keep me quiet. Good thing, too, or I would have alerted MacCready who was sitting dutifully in his chair. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark so I couldn’t see his face right away. All I could see was his vague outline. That, and I could hear the chair creaking under his weight.

I looked down at the hard-on in my pants, then back over at MacCready. I squinted my eyes. Was he…?

As my vision shifted into focus, I saw his expression. He looked like a radstag caught in the headlights. He ‘stealthily’ tucked his dick back into his pants. Was he masturbating to me? To my erection?

I should have bashed his fucking face in. Anyone else and I would have. What kind of sexual predator shit is that? But MacCready? I couldn’t deny it. As creepy as it should have been – some guy silently masturbating next to me while I slept – I was turned on. My cock stirred in my pants. _Oh…_

So which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did MacCready start jerking off at the sight of my erection through my jeans, or did my dream shift in that direction because I subconsciously heard him getting his rocks off while I napped? Did I turn him on? I must have. Fuck that was hot. Besides…now he was perfectly sober.

In a ballsy effort to assert dominance, I looked him right in the eyes and rubbed my hand over my crotch. _Like what you see?_ I thought. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared with his lips parted. I was digging the whole ‘caught red-handed’ look, his stunned face illuminated by the moonlit cascade. 

I palmed the tent in my pants, never once breaking eye contact. There was something wildly hot, wildly exciting about this wordless exchange. I knew there was a real possibility of scaring him off, but hey, he started it. Besides, he was just sitting there, watching with huge eyes.

I circled my fingers over my bulge and tilted my head back, swallowing. _Mgh…fuck…_ I was hot. I think he was too, because he finally shifted in his seat. His hand eased back down. Fly still undone, he gave himself a cautious, little stroke through his boxers to test the waters, to see if I was going to put up with him touching himself next to me. And oh, I was.

I wanted to see his awkward self fumble for his cock while he watched me unzip – which I did – and pull myself out of my pants. I let my dick fall onto my stomach over my white t-shirt. It did so with a small thud. 

“Oh…” I heard him sigh. It was this sultry, little noise, one that preceded MacCready sticking his hand back down his pants and untucking his dick for a second time. Now that it was out, he wasted no time in stroking himself. 

My breath hitched in my throat. Oh _wow_ he was pretty. My God. That was the most perfect dick I had ever seen. It was average in size, maybe a little on the smaller side but not by much; uncircumcised unlike mine; and it was hard as hell, red and swollen in his grasp. I gave my own length a good, firm stroke and swallowed.

I guess I must have already been feeling pretty horny in my dream, because my tip was wet. I pulled my fist over my bare head and inhaled. Every time he jerked himself, I felt tension coil in my balls, this hard, impending feeling of pre-release. I filled up my palm with my girth, pumping myself toward the edge. The mercenary’s hand fluttered across his dick in perfect synchronicity, and within moments, each of us were making soft gasps and grunts, equally as surprised – I’m sure – at the course the evening had taken. 

I pushed my fist against my balls and stroked slowly back up to my head, throbbing inside of my hold. That’s when MacCready said,

“You’re huge…”

“Shhh…” I whispered, not wanting to sully the silence. Still, that comment made me hard as a rock. _You’re God damn right I am, MacCready. You want to touch me, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes…_

I clenched my jaw and jerked myself faster. MacCready followed suit, only he couldn’t keep up; every time he pumped himself to match me, he winced. It was too much for him to handle. He shuddered and moaned this desperate, high-pitched moan. 

_God damn…_ I let my cock fall onto my stomach as my arms came to rest on either side of myself. MacCready stopped masturbating at first, simply holding his rigidity in his hand. I shook my head no, _don’t stop._ He swallowed, picking up his dick again as I nodded yes, _keep going._ He went right back to rubbing himself off.

His wrist and hand bounced in the moonlight. I watched it glint off of his wristwatch, leaving a blur of light as he beat his arm in quick, choppy motions with breaths to match, ragged little gasps that he tried to hold back as he continued with fervency. 

I clenched my floor muscles. My cock jerked up off of my stomach and eased back down. I took my eyes away from MacCready just long enough to catch the light of the moon glistening off of the viscous strand of desire that stretched from my head to my shirt. I glanced back over at MacCready and repeated, letting my cock bob against my middle. Every time it touched back down, I felt a sense of need jolt through my groin. My fingers clawed at the mattress. It was getting to be unbearable. 

I opened my mouth. There was a bead of sweat on my nose – I could feel it – and Jesus, was I having a heart attack? It was like someone was beating a drum inside of my chest. Watching MacCready jack off like that was hands-down the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in the Commonwealth. He was still watching me, and _his_ mouth was open too, only he couldn’t control his breathing like I could. He was losing it. His strokes were far from tame, these frantic, hurried beats that coaxed an urgent moan from him. 

That moan petered off into one of the hottest noises I’d ever heard, a pleading whimper that didn’t stop when his strokes did. Finally, he turned away from me, instead watching his dick inert in his own grasp. I watched it physically pulse. 

He was going to cum. 

I took my index finger and touched my frenulum. That little bundle of nerves lit up like the motherfucking Glowing Sea. It took everything I had in me not to be verbal, to destroy the perfect silence we’d built. Considering I was already hot and bothered by that dream, the touch of my finger was all I needed to realize there was no going back, that I would need to scavenge a new shirt tomorrow. Sure, I could stop and jerk it onto the floor, but why not let MacCready watch me ruin myself?

I pressed the tip of my finger hard against that sensitive little spot, circling it only once before I clenched my jaw and felt a hot stream of ejaculate start to leak through my shirt. _Come on, MacCready,_ I thought, throbbing and feeling another load spill out of my dick, _let’s see what you’ve got._

He visibly gritted his teeth, a muted groan churning somewhere inside of his throat, and right on cue, a rain of cum showered onto the ground. He gave himself a couple of shakes, letting his breath go and gasping loudly as he jerked another couple of small dribbles onto the floor. 

He panted and glanced back over. My head was lying in its own mess, cock still hard and twitching. I clutched the mattress and clenched my muscles one more time, looking right into his eyes as the sixth or seventh or eighth stream of cum emptied out of me without reprieve. MacCready stared hungrily at me like I was a big slice of cake in an otherwise empty refrigerator. God _damn_ if that wasn’t the best fucking nut I’d had all year.

“Whew,” I breathed, breaking the silence at last. “Best 500 caps I’ve ever spent.”

“Oh shaddup!” he hollered and laughed louder than I’d ever heard him laugh before.


	10. Wake Up, Sleepyhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up with his hire tangled up in his arms. MacCready wants to talk about the night before, but Jack has trouble concentrating, and soon, MacCready is in the same boat. Another passionate moment stirs a deep, dark memory inside of Jack, one he wishes he could have forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar smutz

I was already awake when the sun came up, arms warm inside the sleeves of my leather jacket. My spent shirt was tossed inside of the embarrassing ‘just-in-case’ pot next to the mattress, and a man, sound asleep, was tangled in my arms. His head of sandy hair was splayed across my bare chest, shirt, hat and duster crumpled into a pile on the chair.

I hugged him close while he snoozed, fumbling with my off-hand for my cigarettes. Oh yeah. I was out. Damn it. I breathed a sigh through my nose and stared up at the ceiling, watching the icy light of the winter’s morning flow through the broken window, highlighting every little fracture in the plaster.

I thought back to last night, to what happened after we masturbated to each other. I cracked a joke and he laughed, and then we both got really quiet. “Well this is awkward now…” said MacCready, tucking himself away in his pants. “I thought maybe I scared you off when I was drunk the other day.”

“Nah. I’m easy, kid. Bum a cigarette?” 

He came over and sat on the mattress while we smoked, and I guess he just…didn’t get back up. At first we sat together in silence. Then he leaned his head against my shoulder. I wasn’t really the affectionate type, but it was obvious he wanted to experiment with another guy. What did I have to lose? I wrapped an arm around him, and sooner or later, we ended up asleep. 

Now it was morning, and I was pretty sure I saw snow falling outside. Great. It was gonna be a cold day, and I didn’t even have a shirt. 

MacCready stirred, yawned, and rolled over to face me, chin still planted against my chest. “Morning.”

“Mornin’.” I pulled him closer but I’m not sure why I bothered. Maybe for warmth. Maybe for reasons I wasn’t ready to admit.

“Hey Jack…can I ask you something personal?”

I closed my groggy eyes. “You can ask.” Didn’t mean I was gonna answer, especially if it was about my memory loss or my husband or something. Instead, he said,

“How did you do that last night?”

“Do what?”

“You know… _get there_ without really touching yourself?”

I gave a soft breath of a laugh through my nose. “I could always do that.”

“Yeah, but how? That must take some serious control.” 

“Well…” I explained, thinking back to last night. Images of MacCready jerking off, as well as watching my own cock twitch, cycled through my thoughts. I had to confess, they were getting me hard again. “I just think about something I like and…” I clenched, stirring in my pants. “And I just use my muscles.”

“So…what do you think about?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What I’m in the mood for.”

“What about last night?”

What was I supposed to tell him? That I’d been thinking about him ever since he forced my hand over his dick? That I masturbated ten feet away from him in the tunnel the other day? That I found the sight of his red, hard dick unbearably hot? That I was hot right now, too? Because I was on fire, need surging through my chest and my belly and my balls all the way to my core and it was _all_ his fault.

“This and that,” I answered. 

“Well…can I tell you something? Please tell me if I’m overstepping because if another guy told me this I’d probably tell him off, so…”

I clenched the same set of muscles. Could he see the outline of my dick in my jeans? Part of me hoped so. “Tell me.” I opened my eyes and glanced over at him. He had this shy, pink flush across his cheeks. I almost couldn’t see it past all that beard. _Someone_ needed a shave, although I was a fine one to talk; I was growing an unwanted goatee that was winding into my dark sideburns like ivy in some apathetic, old white lady’s unkempt suburban foliage. 

He looked like he was about to tell me when he stopped himself and shook his head, saying, “Sorry. I guess I’m just nervous. I’ve never been with another guy before and I’m afraid I’m doing it all wrong.”

“If being hot is wrong, then no amount of communion is gonna save either of us.”

“You think I’m hot?” he snickered, glossing over my conceit.

“Come on, Bobby-J. You made me cum, didn’t you?” Shit. I felt like I was going to again. My cock was stirring against my boxers, against my jeans, and oh my God it felt good. I was seizing my muscles the entire time I was talking to MacCready. I don’t think he knew. “Now tell me what you want to tell me.”

That poor boy. He looked so embarrassed. Mortified, really. Still, he swallowed, parted his lips, and said, “I think you have a really nice…”

“Cock?” Mine jumped. _Oh shit…almost there…_

MacCready nodded. “Yeah.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Oh…you want me to actually tell you?” I was crying with laughter inside. Holy shit, he looked like he wanted to die. “Uhhhh…well…you’re pretty uh…” He didn’t finish, just held his palms out and made a visible scale in the air. You know, like a fisherman does when he reels in something worth telling a story about. 

“Jesus Christ MacCready, I’m not a trout. Just say I have a big, fat cock like a normal human being.” 

And here I thought he couldn’t turn any redder. I was in a strange place, about to cum, but also laughing inside. He was so cute. So innocent. And he was making me hard as hell.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one questioning whether everything you do or say is wrong.”

“You’re doing great. Need me to prove it?” Before he could answer or ask questions, I unzipped my fly and let my cock fall onto my bare stomach. I was even harder than I was the night before. A dark, rosy hue blossomed around the plume of my head and I was swollen to the touch. 

“Holy sh- uhhh, holy crap.” I flexed for him, watching my length twitch like I made it do the night before. “See? That’s what I’m talking about,” he continued. “Look how hard you are…and _JUST_ from doing that! Does it really feel that good?”

 _Oh, sweet boy, you have no idea._ I offered only a nod. 

“Can I…can I…” 

“Can you…?”

He swallowed again, that same nervous tick of his. “Can I watch?”

I chuckled, pressing my hand against his chest and forcing him back onto the mattress. My little mercenary wanted a show? Then I was gonna give him a show. He watched in awe as I hovered over him, knees planted on either side of his bare waist. I brought my arms over the back of my head and folded them, palms firm against my neck. Hands free? I could do hands free. All I needed to do was paint myself a pretty, mental picture.

I pictured MacCready moaning, bent over a chair while I grabbed his ass and took him. Yeah, that would do. I imagined sinking my digits into his skin so hard he bruised, leaving him whimpering and begging even though it hurt. Did it play out like a bad porno? Sure. But it was all I needed to start.

I eased my hips forward and fucked nothing, letting MacCready stare at me like a wide-eyed, little radstag (rad-doe?). My erection bounced with each thrust of my hips, which were slow, arduous thrusts that always ended with another clench of my floor muscles. I would jerk my hips forward, let them stagnate, and watch my cock pulse. 

If I had been alone, and I mean _all_ alone, I might have indulged a little, let myself groan or something (God knows it was hard to keep completely quiet; I felt fucking amazing) but MacCready was watching and I gave him the same, hard look I always did, confident and intense.

The next time my hips swayed, I breathed, throbbed, and oozed onto his chest. He was leaning on his elbows, angling himself in such a way that my thick mess dripped all the way down to his belly. He was still so red, so humiliated, and now, he had a giant erection in his pants. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, “I never thought I’d feel turned on by watching some guy cum on me, but…”

“That wasn’t cum.”

His eyes shot open and I could swear his gaze pierced my soul or something. “You mean that was…? That wasn’t even…?!”

“Just getting revved up.” This time, I allowed myself one, singular stroke, coaxing another dab of precum out of myself. I also allowed a groan, mostly just to entice MacCready. I guess it worked, because he watched me draw that little bead of clear, glistening lust out and he whimpered, actually _whimpered_ out loud. 

I stuck my arm back behind my head and continued – with the muscles, not with the thrusting – building myself up until I felt like I was ready. It was right there, that burning passion deep inside my core, churning in my groin and begging for release. Instead of giving in, I rode the waves, still thinking about all of the filthy things I wanted to do to my hire.

Then, MacCready reached out. He looked hesitant at first, like he might get in trouble. I smiled and nodded. _Go ahead._ Once I gave him that nod, he wasted no time, seizing my dick in his hand and starting me off with a small, experimental stroke. 

He had obviously never handled anyone else, let alone a circumcised penis. It was sweet in its own way, watching him fumble and try to figure out what felt good and what didn’t. Honestly, it all felt good; that being said, MacCready’s inexperience wouldn’t have gotten me there by itself. That was okay. I was already so worked up that I was dying to unload. Besides, why not encourage him a little?

When he stroked me for maybe the tenth or fifteenth time, I let out a purposefully long, horny groan followed by, “Ah yeah…right there…” Not my usual reaction, but I wanted him to feel like he was doing a good job.

I started constricting my muscles again to get that edge back. That, plus MacCready’s fist working my dick, _plus_ that look of wonder on his face were a beautiful combination. I was so hard, so swollen, and I was still right there on the edge. Sure I embellished, but his little pumps sure as hell didn’t deter me. I allowed myself to get caught in the moment, focusing on the feel of his palm against my head, stroking down my shaft like he would have done anything to get me off. I think he might have. 

I watched him. Like I said: pure wonder. His lips were open and there were stars shining in his eyes. He was about to make me cum and he knew it. I was happy for him. Pleasing someone else that way _always_ felt good, like you were powerful and in control. It’s how I felt knowing MacCready got off to the sight of me, and I’m sure it was how he felt right then. I stiffened in his grasp. I wanted this experience to be perfect for him, wanted to make it grand. Besides, I was about to blow.

I reached over and grabbed my old shirt out of the pot and quickly laid it across MacCready’s middle, careful not to interrupt his helping hand. As soon as he was covered up, I gave in, tilting my head back, squeezing my eyes shut with an exaggerated cry. “¡Ay, sí!”

Finally, I let go, _all_ over the shirt on his chest; hot, hard spurts with each jerk of my cock that would have taken _ages_ for him to clean up if I hadn’t been kind enough to spare him the mess. I had already ruined the shirt the night before, but now, it was fuuucked. 

And I came so much. I always did. I made this hot, smoldering face and moved my hips, gushing onto the shirt. I continued until I was spent, giving a few melodramatic pants for effect. That sheen on my chest though? That was real. I wiped away some sweat with my palm, moved his hand out of the way, jerked my dick a couple times to get that last bit out, and smiled down at MacCready. He was speechless.

The shirt went back into the pot – a pot I kind of hoped never to see again – revealing the hard-on in MacCready’s pants. Well, well. It’d be rude just to leave him like that, right? “Looks like someone needs attention.” 

He nodded. “Oh my god, please Jack…” _Please Jack._ Oh, fuck, if I hadn’t just cum…

I didn’t waste a second. I unbuttoned him, jerked his pants and boxers down, and revealed that beautiful, swollen dick of his. Finally. A chance to live out my original fantasy. I licked my lips and plunged his cock inside my mouth so fast that he jerked his hips. 

MacCready was fairly quiet the night before, but every time my head bobbed or my tongue swiveled around his cock or teased that sensitive little spot under his shaft, he jerked or shifted or mewled. I had obviously gotten him hard from that little show – as was my intention – but now he was hopeless. 

Last night, he couldn’t keep up with me. Jerking himself off that fast made him cum a little prematurely, I think. Today was no different. He was hot as hell but had zero control. Honestly, that got me off. He couldn’t even stand the warm sheath of my mouth or the tight clasp of my throat on his length. Every breath he took was more exasperated than the one before it; every thrust of his hips was more urgent; each time he rocked he failed to hold back a noise, whether it be a choppy breath or a desperate little moan. He was right there on the edge and I knew it. 

I dipped his cock deeper inside of my mouth and relaxed my throat, arms wrapped around his thighs. My head bobbed up and down and up and down and up and down until he moaned, _moaned_ so loud I thought he would alert every raider in a mile-long radius. And then, he gasped this loud, out-of-control gasp and said, “Jack I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna -”

_“Come on…cum for me baby.”_

_There was a slender arm wrapped around me from behind, covered in a long, leather glove. It squelched against my flesh, the man’s palm flat against my middle. His back was pressed to me, opposite hand reaching around to jerk me off._

_I stared into the lens of the camera. [Husband - - fuck what was his name?] wanted to get a Mr. Handy to record us, possibly to commentate. The viewers would have loved that. At least that’s what my asshole husband said. He knew I didn’t want to do that. He knew it made me uncomfortable. Camming didn’t, but you know what did? Nutting into a bowl filled with my husband’s semen and mixing it together on film before taking it over to Diane’s house and shoving a turkey baster up her cunt._

_Okay, [asshole husband] was right: I liked Diane. I regretted all of the shitty things I said about her. She was smart, funny, and a good candidate for a surrogate. But the whole mixing-our-loads-together-on-tape thing? Not enough cash in the world for that._

_“I’m nervous, [Josh? Justin? What was it?] Turn off the camera.”_

_“Baby,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Think about it. Not only is the studio going to love this, but we’ll have this special moment on tape for the rest of our lives!”_

_“Oh, sure, we can show it at Christmas dinners with the family. When Susie is old enough she can see how affectionate her dads were.”_

_[J-something] gave a lilting laugh, the one I fell in love with. “Okay, first of all, yes, you’re very funny.” He gave me another stroke. It was undeniably hot. I moaned. Did I really moan like that? I didn’t moan like that… That was a little sub moan. “Second, **Shaun,** our future **son-** ”_

_“Uh huh, our **daughter, Susie.**_

_“ –never has to know about our private life.”_

_“Riiight, the private life we share with thousands of people.”_

_“They love us. They love us because we’re the real deal. They see how much I care about you…” he gave me another couple of strokes. I whimpered. “Don’t you see how much I care about you? Don’t you **feel** how much I care?”_

_“God damn it Jeremy.”_

_Wait. Jeremy? I married a guy named Jeremy? Really? That felt…underwhelming._

_“I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen, [N…something, it was right on the tip of my tongue], “I’m going to make you cum so hard you can’t see straight, and then, we’re going to go to Diane’s to do what we’ve always wanted to do: make a baby.” Sure, I thought, what **we** want. “And by the time I’m done taking the BAR, we’ll have the room all set up for our son.”_

_“You mean our daught- ohhh fuck! Fuck Jeremy!”_

_My ass clenched around his finger. Oh he knew I hated that. LOVED it. But hated it, because it always ruined me. He knew I couldn’t handle having my prostate played with like that. It always made me-_

_“-cum! Gotta cum!”_

_“What do we say?”_

_“Please! Please let me cum!”_

_“Look into the camera.”_

_I did. And I hated it. I hated myself. I came into the bowl of my husband’s semen and just… **hated** myself. Why did I ever take that job at the studio? For the money? Why couldn’t I just be satisfied with those VA checks? What kind of human being takes up a porn career after being in the army? And what kind of porn actor-slash-director goes to fucking law school? _

_I trembled and let Jeremy jerk the rest of me into the bowl. I knew he was going to show that video to a lot of people. Sure, we’d get paid, but that was some really personal dialogue we recorded. And he loved making it public. Sometimes I felt like it would ruin our marriage. Why couldn’t we have one fucking night where it was just the two of us? We didn’t even have to have sex. We could just talk, or go out to dinner. But no. Jeremy had a fetish, a fetish that made me have second thoughts every day of my life. He jerked me again._

_“Stop.”_

_He laughed at me and overstimulated my sensitive dick. I knew he didn’t stop for stop. He stopped for the safe word. Most of the time it was fine. I would cry ‘stop babe’ and he would keep going and it was enjoyable and consensual. But not today. Today I felt sick. “Corvega.”_

_He did stop this time. “Seriously?”_

_I turned around, letting my flaccid dick fall. “What?”_

_“You’re not gonna let me get off?”_

_“What?! Dude, that is a bowl full of **your** jizz.” I laughed. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. _

_“That was a half an hour ago. It took you a half an hour this time, [Na - -].”_

_My smile fell. “So what?”_

_“So I don’t even turn you on anymore!” Wait, he **was** serious? _

_“What the hell? Of course you do. I just…sometimes it’s hard in front of the camera because I know you’re gonna end up showing everyone our personal life…” Part of me knew he was making a scene right then and there for that precise reason. That sick feeling was back tenfold._

_“There’s nothing wrong with smut.”_

_“I’m not talking about the smut!” I yelled. “I’m talking about the way you never shut that fucking thing off! Like right now!”_

_“I can shut it off whenever I want.”_

_“So do it!”_

_“Wh- now?! You told me we could do this!”_

_“Well I’m changing my God damn mind Jeremy! Shut it off right now! It’s me or those skeezebags who jerk off to your husband! So choose, damn it! Me or them?!”_

_He stopped. Looked at me. Then to the video camera. I was fuming in an instant._

_“Oh my God. You actually have to think about this, don’t you?”_

_Once he realized how fucked up it was, he shook his head, strode over to the camera, and shut it off. I was actually kind of surprised he did. “I’m sorry, Nate.”_

My head felt like someone had driven a stake through it. And to make matters worse, I was having one of my ‘episodes’ with some guy’s dick buried in my mouth. And he was cumming. _Hard._

I gave it an honest shot, trying to bob my head so he could ride it all the way out, but it wasn’t happening. I didn’t feel good. I pulled back and let his dick fall and went to say sorry while he finished off his half an orgasm. What came out instead was a pathetic groan. I had to leave the room. Leave the building. Leave MacCready behind saying, “Jack, what happened? What did I do wrong?”


	11. Now You're Speaking My Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and MacCready move on to their next job. Somewhere along the line MacCready realizes Jack is bilingual and confronts him about it, causing Jack to curse about the Commonwealth's standards for education...or lack thereof.

I hated those episodes so God damn much, and I couldn’t have had one at a worse time. I could hear MacCready shuffling around upstairs while I hung out outside of the building, watching the snow fall onto the cold, Boston concrete. It was like flicking a switch: one minute I would be fine, and the next, I would have this migraine-inducing flashback. 

I must have been standing out there for a while, because a voice eventually came from behind. “So are you just gonna ignore me or what?”

I glanced over. MacCready was hanging in the doorway with his clothes and hat back on, rifle in his arms. He was ready to go. I sniffled against the cold, zipped my jacket up over my bare chest, and said, “Wasn’t my intention.”

“Well what was that then?”

I hated talking about my memories, but I had to. MacCready was giving me another chance on the single condition that I communicated better. Sure, he agreed to be patient, but how far would that patience stretch if I chose not to talk altogether? I gestured toward the wide, open wasteland, and we set off on our next mission while I explained things along the way. 

I told him how I remembered my husband’s name, purposefully glossing over my real name and some kinky facts regarding our personal life. I told him we were trying for a kid and that I think we actually had one because sometimes there was an infant boy in my dreams. And I told him that whenever I had flashes like that, it was overwhelming, that they made me sick, that I didn’t mean to run off like I did, that I just…

“It’s alright, boss,” he said. “Honestly, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Do you think your son is still out there somewhere?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“Bum a smoke?” He obliged for a second time since I ran out. After he lit me up and I got a cathartic couple of drags in, I answered honestly. “I really think I was around before the war.”

“You keep saying that, but how is that possible? N-not that I don’t believe you, but…”

“I know how it sounds. It sounds crazy.”

“I mean, I never said ‘crazy…’” 

“Well it is. And I am. But I’m not wrong.” I took another deep, deep drag. We were crossing a bridge north-west of Boston proper, past that freaky ship with all the robots. I always avoided that ship. Nothing good is bound to come from a sentrybot wearing an admiral’s hat, mark my words. I stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked out over the bay. The snow was falling harder now in consistent, white flurries. I was freezing my balls off. “Hey. You’re a people-person, right?”

MacCready shrugged. “I’ve got contacts, if that’s what you mean. Mostly bartenders, but.”

I leaned over the railing and he joined me. “Do you know that reporter from Diamond City?” I asked.

MacCready laughed that lighthearted, charming little laugh of his. “Are you kidding? I’m the only guy in the Commonwealth Piper won’t interview.”

“Why?”

“Between you and me, I think she’s immune to my charm.”

“What charm?” He furrowed his brows. Those wrinkles on his nose were back. “Oh, I see it now. The kind you get when you look constipated.” More wrinkles. 

“Anyway, what about her, boss?”

I glanced back out at the ocean. I could have told MacCready what’d happened back in Diamond City, about how Piper had a lead or two on my past. I can’t say I hadn’t thought about going back and following up. But the more I remembered about my husband, about Jeremy, I wondered if there was even a point. Based on my dreams and memories, I felt like our relationship was rocky at best. Even if we had a son together, I always wanted a daughter – Well, past-me did anyway – so did I even want him to begin with? If by some miracle he was still alive, would I be a shitty father? Hate him? Disown him? But he wasn’t alive. I lived before the war, somehow, and that was a long, long time ago. 

I shook my head, had a final puff, and flicked my cigarette into the ocean. “Nothing. Guess I lost my train of thought.”

“Eh, suit yourself. Where are we headed, anyway?” An hour later, MacCready peered over the edge of the sinkhole. “Don’t tell me we’re going all the way down there.”

I shrugged. “That’s the job.”

“Yeah, about this ‘job,’” he nagged, glowering at the huge drop. Dirt and rocks crumbled off the ledge. “I can think of at least three things off the top of my head less annoying than finding some guy’s hat.”

“But money.”

“But it’s a fuck-ugh! It’s a frigging hat!”

I shrugged again. “But it’s money.”

“Who’s even paying you for this? Some whack-job in Diamond City? Oh man, this seems like exactly the kind of thing some sentimental old guy from the upper stands would pay for.”

“Nah. Some pendejo from Bunker Hill.”

“Okay, stop. What _is_ that?”

“A settlement with a bunch of assholes and smelly cows, why?”

“No, I know what Bunker Hill is, idiot, what language are you speaking?”

I made the single most expressive face I think I had ever made in front of another human being. One of my eyebrows shot up so far that I thought it might fly off and hit one of those stupid vertibirds. “You’re joking.”

“Are you? This is like the third or fourth time you’ve stopped speaking English and started speaking…uhhh…whatever it is you’re speaking.”

All I could do was gawk. He wasn’t serious. It’s not like I was speaking some weird, off-the-wall language or something. 

“Is it Mexican?”

This guy was not for real. No. I refused. “That…isn’t a language.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“No, man. No. Holy shit. What the fuck.” I looked at the sky as though God would speak up and cue me in on how to interact with this moron. 

I was pretty sure _I_ was Mexican, at least in terms of heritage (not nationality) but was that actually true? I had no memories. I could have been anyone from anywhere. I had an American accent, but I spoke fluent Spanish. Who were my parents? Were they both from America? Or Mexico? Or somewhere else? 

The only other Spanish-speaker I knew of was Arturo, and we didn’t really talk. Nobody spoke anything but English anymore. I mean, there was that noodle robot, but repeating one sentence does not count as speaking a foreign language. Some Mrs. Nannys were French, I guess. And everyone else was American, unless you counted the ‘British’ Mr. Handys, or that crazy-as-balls Irish chick from the Combat Zone who I avoided at all costs because she scared the everloving shit out of me. Wow, I thought, is education gonna be a thing again anytime soon?

“It’s Spanish,” I corrected.

“Is that what Takahashi speaks?”

“Holy shit.”

“What? What did I say?”

“Nothing, man. Yeah. _Takahashi_ totally speaks Spanish. And that one sentence he says? Super inappropriate.” 

My dry sarcasm went right over his head. Maybe because he was so short. “Wait, really?”

“Oh yeah. Thankfully nobody speaks Spanish anymore or Diamond City would have disassembled him by now.”

“Why? What does he say?!”

I shook my head. “I can’t repeat it. It’s _too_ inappropriate. Make a fucking sailor blush.”

“Oh come on!” he shouted. His voice echoed off of the canyon below. The echo bounced and bounced, resounding in our ears, ending with a strange, low rumble. MacCready and I peered down into the sinkhole. That last bit wasn’t an echo at all. “Oh, shit…” he cursed. 

Two huge, monstrous hands clasped onto a mound of rock and rubble, pulling the rest of its weight out from under an old pile of garbage where it had been taking a nice, peaceful nap. The thing turned to us, roared this _horrifying_ roar, and began clambering up the side of the hole.

“Well,” said MacCready, adam’s apple dipping in his throat. “Nothing turns your shorts brown faster than a deathclaw charging at you. I suggest we run.”


	12. Yeesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and MacCready run into trouble at the Old Gullet Sinkhole. Not to mention, Jack's headaches are getting worse. One such headache may just save MacCready from a life or death situation.

Thirty minutes. That stupid, oversized iguana spent thirty minutes circling around us trying to find a way into the dilapidated house. MacCready and I found a decent sniper’s nest on the second floor where we could take pot-shots at Ol’ Scaley. The dumb thing spent forever running up and down the road, screeching about not finding a way up the narrow stairs. It was terrifying at first, but once we realized the idiot couldn’t figure out how to reach us, we relaxed.

“’Nother cigarette?” asked MacCready.

“Yeah.” 

“Shi-uh, shoot.” He stared into his pack and gave it a shake, ignoring the wails of the deathclaw on the street below us. Why couldn’t it just bleed out already? “Only got one left.”

“Keep it then.”

MacCready pulled it out, lit it up, and took a drag. The deathclaw roared again. “Oh shut up already!” hollered the merc, tossing the empty pack out the window and bonking it on the head. He sat down next to me, posted against the wall beneath the window sill, and handed off the smoke. I hadn’t been expecting that. Either way, I took it and had myself a drag. 

What was going on between us, exactly? I wouldn’t have shared a cigarette with just anyone. I never would have let some random guy ‘cuddle’ with me. I had hired MacCready eight days ago. That wasn’t enough time to warrant my actions; screwing around with him, getting pissed with him, telling him about my memories and my family and my vulnerabilities… What was I even doing? Who was MacCready to me? Why did the thought of him taking off scare the shit out of me?

I passed the cigarette back. “Keep it.”

He shrugged and did as I asked, blissfully unaware of the complicated feelings behind the gesture. Once he was done, he flicked it out of the house. The butt toppled down the side of the Old Gullet Sinkhole. “We’ll have to pick up another pack when we get to Bunker Hill, assuming we ever get out of this frigging house.” 

“Oh this is ridiculous,” I scoffed. I stood up, pulled some ammo out of the bandolier I kept strapped to my leg, and reloaded. 

“The hell are you doing, boss?”

“Me voy ahora. Hey! Cabrón!” The deathclaw actually paused and glanced up like it was considering me. If I hadn’t been so tired and cranky it would have been funny. “¡Vete a la mierda!”

It roared.

“Oh, _I’m_ an asshole?! Nobody talks to Jack Whatever-the-fuck-my-last-name-is like that and gets away with it.” I poised my gun through the window and shot the thing right in the eyeball. _Bullseye!_ Well that had gone better than expected. The thing screeched and flailed. Suddenly I realized that it had not, in fact, gone better than expected. The deathclaw’s arm collided with the old house. It was _so_ old that the entire thing shook and I lost my footing.

I knew exactly what was happening before I could stop it. The only thing I could think to do before staggering back and falling off the edge of the broken house was to toss my gun to MacCready. “Shitballs!” I cried, gun clattering to the floor. And just like that, I was boned.

Pain jolted throughout my head and body. I hit something hard – either an old piece of furniture that had fallen out of the house and buried itself in the wall of the sinkhole, or maybe a rock – and continued falling. My shoulder. My back. Everything. I suffered one blow after another until finally, everything stopped. I groaned and sat up, vision coming back into focus.

I was lying in about three inches of water. I could hear it trickling out of some old, jagged culvert pipe as I stared at the bright, gray sky and watched flakes of snow flutter toward my face. I felt like I was Alice and I was in Wonderland, staring down that long, whimsical tunnel; odd bits of furniture and pieces of metal jutted out of the walls of dirt with no rhyme or reason; it was wet but snowing; and I was freezing, yet my limbs were on fire. I wondered if I was okay or dying, and if the latter was true, was my last word really going to be "shitballs?"

Somewhere in the distance I heard the deathclaw roar. I shut my eyes. Welp. Goodbye MacCready. Goodbye, cruel world. It wasn’t nice knowing you, so you know, thanks for nothing.

But I didn’t die. I think I broke like five, six bones in my body, but death? Not today I guess. I opened my eyes and sighed. “Whatever.” 

Then, something caught my eye. A tiny figure appeared on the edge of the sinkhole. MacCready waved. “Jack! You okay?!” And you know, it really surprised me how relieved I was to see him, how worried I was about the kid without even realizing. Of course I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I glowered and loudly rasped,

“Fucking great!” Ow. Even yelling hurt.

“Hold tight! I’ll…” I barely saw him glance into the hole, plotting out his route, “…I’ll be right there!”

He carefully dodged old car parts, couches, and armchairs, using the base of a standing lamp sticking out of the embankment for support as he lowered himself down further and further. Finally, two boots landed with a thud and came clomping up to me. “Holy shit! I mean crap! Are you alright?!”

“Peachy.”

“Yeesh. Bet your head’s ringing.” 

I squinted. “Why? What’s the matter with my head?”

He didn’t answer, just unbuttoned his duster and poked around his inner-pockets for a stimpak.

“Bobby.”

“Shut up and hold still.” He squatted down. Was he holding four stims? _Five?!_

It must have taken ten, fifteen minutes just for everything to start mending, and that was the last of our stimpaks too. Ideally I would have saved one or two and just walked off whatever injuries I had sustained, but MacCready was adamant about letting me heal up. Once my head stopped swimming and my limbs weren’t on fire, he helped me to my feet, handing me back my pistol which I holstered.

Honestly, I appreciated his effort, but I was garbage at communicating, and how was I supposed to tell him that my stomach twisted when he touched my hand, or how I felt safer with him around? I settled for a brusque, “Thanks.”

Once I was on my feet, I took a look around. That sinkhole was _huge._ And everything inside of it – the motion of the water spilling out of the pipe, the jagged shapes of miscellanea, everything – was a lot to take in at once. That, coupled with getting to my feet too fast, made me feel dizzy. I swayed, and any footing I had was gone in an instant. MacCready reached out to grab me but I was too heavy; we both went toppling over into the water, and wouldn’t you know it, it filtered out into yet another drop.

This time it was only fifteen feet down, but still, it was rocky and wet and it hurt. MacCready landed on top of me knocking the wind from my lungs. The kid’s elbow pierced my ribs. I wasn’t sure if one broke or not, but damn that hurt. I shoved him off, groaned, and rolled over, spitting out a mouthful of janky old water. 

“Crap! You okay?!” he gasped.

I pulled myself to my feet. No I wasn’t okay! “Fine. You?”

“Y-yeah, I think so. Ugh. I hate getting wet.”

Yeah, you and me both, I thought. But before I could comment, I caught sight of a pile of bones lying on a ledge. I flicked on my pipboy’s light and took a closer look. Bingo: there was the hat. I sloshed over to the dead guy, snatched the ten-gallon, and said, “Let’s go.” I could not have needed a change of dry clothes sooner.

“Uhhhhhhh.”

“What now?! Let’s go!” I snapped. Great. Now I’d have to apologize for getting angry with him when he didn’t do anything. But MacCready didn’t seem to notice. What he did notice was a half a dozen shamblers crawling out of this deep, dark tunnel up ahead. They weaved through stalagmites and bounced off of the earthen walls. “Oh, good. Ghouls.” One of them was even glowing. Fun times.

Needless to say the next five minutes of our lives were spent sloshing around in the water, getting even wetter and dodging a small army of ferals. It was cold and uncomfortable, but we lived, sustaining no further injuries. It must have taken another half an hour to get back to the surface, though. 

“FUCK!” I shouted at the sky, collapsing onto the pavement. I was caked in foul water, irradiated ghoul goop, and dirt for _days._

“Come on, you’re alright boss,” said MacCready, placing a muddy hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me. You’re wet.”

“Fine,” he sneered, and swaggered into the road. “Damn. It’s getting dark. We should probably look for shelter.”

“I want to go back to Bunker Hill and give stupid Joe his shitty hat.”

“Bunker Hill is hours away, boss,” MacCready looked over his shoulder with a concerned expression, “and no offense, but you aren’t looking so hot.”

I swear lasers fired out of my eyes I was so pissed. “I’m fine. I want to go to Bunker Hill.”

“Fine,” he repeated, “but don’t say I didn’t tell you this was a bad idea.”

Stupid kid. Stupid fucking kid. Stupid fucking kid who was right all along. 

We had passed Med-Tek along the way when MacCready suggested we sleep in the parking garage outside, the one where we slept after getting Duncan’s cure; there was a bedroll and a cooking spit, all in all a decent place to get a fire going and catch a couple winks while our clothes dried. But I was a fool. I said no, let’s just go to Bunker Hill, stop saying we should stop.

I was freezing, _shaking,_ pleading with God to find some sort of bed along the way because I had changed my mind. Hell, even a corpse who was finished using their clothes would have been great, but there was nothing. 

It had stopped snowing. Now, all that was left on the ground was muddy sleet. My boots were caked with the stuff, toes freezing. Was I getting holes in my socks? Fantastic. And I really needed a pair of gloves or something. My fingers were like ice. And my head was _killing_ me again. Usually my headaches only cropped up after a dream or a vivid memory, but I guess everything else sort of exacerbated the issue. By the time I caught sight of the monument’s white fang poking up from the tops of buildings, I was feeling pretty miserable.

“I told you,” goaded MacCready, jerking his sleeve over a bloody smudge on his rifle’s stock. 

“Shut up.”

He did, but he had this smirk on his face the entire time. He was so skinny, why wasn’t _he_ freezing?! It wasn’t fair. But whatever. I stewed and kept my mouth shut, that is, until my headache progressed. 

It was bad. _Really_ bad. I hated when they got like that. Usually I had a decent eye for places to hunker down; I could just hole up somewhere and close my eyes until I was well enough to head back out. But we were so close to our destination that it would have been stupid to look for anywhere else to sleep. Besides, at Bunker Hill, we could get a room or something. 

Unfortunately, this was one of those gnarly migraines like the kind I had a week ago when MacCready saved me from raiders. The week before, it was a quick sort of thing; some dizziness followed by sleep. But this was full-blown nausea, and it was more distracting than the actual headache itself. And even more fun - - all of the buildings blurred past me in the darkness. It was like having motion sickness or something, which was dumb considering I was walking with my own two feet. Well, I was sure I’d be fine. At worst, I’d get to Bunker Hill and lie down in a miserable heap somewhere. Ah, if only.

I was right outside the gate when I realized I wasn’t going to make it. Oh God, I felt so sick. I was about to humiliate myself in front of MacCready. I knew I had about a minute to figure it out. Should I tell him? Excuse myself and find some inconspicuous building to duck behind? Let him think I’m taking a leak? This wasn’t going to play out like the last time; this was some horrendous sweaty-palms, I’ve-got-the-spins, everything-is-hot-and-cold-all-at-once bullshit. It was coming in waves now, and the next time it happened, I stopped walking and actually groaned. 

MacCready stopped to face me. “What’s up?”

“Feel like I’m gonna be sick.” I clamped my hand over my mouth like that was supposed to help or something. I was so mortified that I could feel the blood rush to my face. 

“Oh man. Yeah, you’re looking pretty rough. Alright. You do what you gotta do, boss. I’ll keep watch.” He was so sweet. And I was so gross. Sorry, MacCready. So much for ever thinking I’m attractive again. Suddenly, his face fell. “Holy shit, is that…?” MacCready looked up and I did too, trying to put a pin in my situation. Two men were approaching out of the darkness and they were approaching fast. I thought about drawing my gun, but they didn’t seem to be drawing any weapons of their own. They were tall, dark shadows of men, finally coming into focus in the light of the moon that peered out from the gray clouds. 

“MacCready.”

“Well, look who it is! Heard you two lovebirds got engaged. Where’s my wedding invitation?” Heh.

“Come on, Winlock!” said Barnes. “We’re _still_ putting up with this shit?!”

“Listen here, MacCready,” said Winlock, holding his palm out to his fiancée and keeping her in line, “we know what you’ve been up to, operating in Gunner territory after we explicitly told you to stop.”

“Oh yeah, me and my friend are such a threat!” he exclaimed. “Look at this hat we got! It’s gonna run you all out of business!”

I held up the hat and waved it around. Oh boy. That hat was about ten seconds away from becoming a heinous receptacle. 

“Why do you have a hat?” asked Barnes. He wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. _Nine seconds…_

“Hey, I have an idea,” gibed MacCready, “why don’t you two mind your own damned business for a change and leave us the hell alone?!” _…eight…_

“We already told you once,” said Winlock, voice low and calm, “if we caught wind of you operating in our territory,” _…seven…_ “all bets are off. And it looks to me like that’s exactly what you’re doing.” _…six…_ My face paled. I could feel it.

“Oh get over yourselves! It’s just a stupid hat!” _…five…_

“It’s a threat,” corrected Winlock, “and the Gunners don’t take kindly to threats.” _…four…_ Oh, God… “You know what this means.”

“Yeah?!” shouted MacCready. _…three…_ “So why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“This is the end of the line, MacCready.” They looked like they were about to reach for their sidearms. _…two…_ Oh, fuck. Here we go.

“Hold this for me, pal?” I asked, handing off the hat to Barnes. He was so caught off guard that the oaf actually took it. He turned it over in his hands, looking at it like it was some sort of foreign object, and said, 

“Wait, why-”

I held out my finger. Everyone fell silent. There wasn’t time for anything anymore. No time to end the conversation. No time to get to the settlement ahead. And leaving MacCready with a pair of Gunners wasn’t happening. All I could do was shush them and wait until the next time my stomach roiled up into my throat. I wasn’t left waiting long. 

All three of them took a step back as I bent over with my hands on my knees and found the relief I’d been seeking for over an hour. It was a _lot_ of relief. I think they were all afraid to talk. They just sort of stood there, baffled at what they were seeing. I mean, it was weird; they go to cap some guy and his friend just…does _that_ out of the blue. 

After a minute or two, I stopped, panted, and spit, wiping my mouth, still doubled over. Barnes was still holding my hat.

“Are you done?” asked Winlock, breaking the silence. 

I gave a raspy chuckle. “Yeah, man. I’m done.” Still bent over, I drew my magnum. All it took was a quick glance for me to land one right between Winlock’s eyes. And Barnes – the idiot that he was – shielded himself with the hat like that was going to stop my bullet from digging into his skull. Spoiler: it didn’t. Two bodies hit the ground.

“Shit, Jack!” cursed MacCready. “Are you serious right now?!”

I gave my gun a twirl and holstered it, plucking Joe Savoldi’s hat from Barnes’s cold clutches. “What? They wouldn’t shut up.”

“Oh, believe me, I wanted them dead as much as the next guy, but did you seriously have to kill them here? _Now?!_ ” 

“They were going to kill you, jackass.”

“Yeah but look!” He gestured to the front gate of the settlement. Mayor Kessler and a few of the others were staring, absolutely horrified. “It looks like you just offed two random guys, genius!”

“They’re Gunners! Who gives a shit?!”

“Probably everyone at Bunker Hill who doesn’t want some gun-slinging moron causing problems at ten’o’clock at night!”

“Relax, will ya? It’s fine. Watch.”

The mayor slammed the gate in my face. I glowered. “Oh come on, Kessler.”

“I’m not putting up with Jack the Wanderer gunning down men outside my gate.”

I snickered. “ _Jack the Wanderer?_ Really?” 

“That’s right. Congratulations. You’ve made a name for yourself. One we don’t want here at Bunker Hill.”

“Kessler, be reasonable…”

“Oh just stop, you’re making it worse!” shouted MacCready from inside the walls. Why did the mayor let _him_ in?! Come on! “Look, Jack, I’ll give the hat to Savoldi and meet you out here in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Yeah, gimme a second to catch up with Joe, will ya?”

“Fine. Buy cigarettes.”

“Alright.”

“And stims! And ammo!”

“You’re paying for this, right?”

“And clothes!”

“Wh-ugh! I don’t even know what size you are!”

“Medium shirt, 34” wide 32” long in pants, unless it’s women’s sizes, then I need a large shirt and size ten pants. Thanks.”

“Okay? So are you saying you have a preference, or…?”

“Yeah, my preference is **DRY CLOTHES!** ”

“And my preference is that you pay for all this with your own damn caps when I get back out there! You hear me Jack? You owe me!”

“Yeah, yeah…” I sat on the steps and clutched my stomach. What a shitty night. It’d be alright though. Twenty minutes later and I’d have fresh clothes, ammo, and a little bit of sympathy from MacCready to sustain me.


	13. I'm Really Sorry...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding a place to sleep, Jack and MacCready have another 'encounter,' one that both explores Jack's deeper fantasies and stirs up clearer memories of his past. For once, Jack finally has some direction in his life, and may have a reason or two to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut smut in the butt
> 
> Trigger warning: mention of (domestic) abuse.

“So are you gonna listen to me next time?” asked MacCready from over there on the couch.

I was fuming, but also exhausted. We found someplace outside of town called Taffington Boathouse – this little place on the waterfront – with a roof and a bed. Was there a rotting corpse inside? Sure, but this was the Commonwealth. We dumped her body into the bay and crashed upstairs. Just as I had given MacCready the bed in the tunnel when he was hungover, he gave me the bed at Taffington to sleep off the remnants of my migraine. I glared at him from across the room. He was lying on his back, one leg folded over the other on that old, dusty couch.

“Yeah, but did you have to pick out _this_ outfit?” 

“Hey,” he argued, wearing his fresh, white t-shirt and black boxers while his usual clothes hung and dried downstairs with my own. “You said you’d take whatever was dry.”

“Deb didn’t have a normal shirt?”

“Deb’s shop wasn’t even open. I had to pry her away from the bar and pay her extra. Consider this revenge.”

I glanced down at my hot pink Nuka Cola tee. I’m sure some avid collector would have killed for it. The Nuka Babe? She was on my shirt, only it wasn’t her; it was her ripped, hairy, male counterpart, tight pants and all. _ZAP THAT THIRST!_ it read. Fuck me. I scratched my balls and rolled over onto my side. 

“Oh, come on, it’s funny,” insisted MacCready. 

I held up my arm and flipped him off. He snickered. Then, I thought, you know what? We aren’t done here. I rolled back over and sat up on my elbows. “I thought your ‘revenge,’” I made air-quotes, “consisted of taking your sweet time at Bunker Hill?”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Uh, the guy who took over an hour while his partner waited outside in the cold?”

“You mean the guy who needed his shopping done after all the shops closed? I had to go find Deb, Kay, and everyone else and offer extra caps just so they’d sell to me. Do you know how long it took me to track them down? Plus, I had to do your stupid clothes shopping, you prima donna.”

I stopped glaring and sighed. Damn it. He was right. Cigarettes, stims, ammo, clothes…he got it all. He even scored me some purified water to help settle my stomach. Its half empty container was on the floor next to my bed. I lied back down, looked at the ceiling, and said, “Sorry.”

MacCready got quiet for a minute, then asked, “Why are you so worked up? I told you I’d be right out.”

I was so tired, exhausted, really, and while throwing up did help alleviate my headache to a large degree, I still felt ill in general. Being alone sucked, but it was lonelier when I had the option of having company, and said company was busy. I had been travelling alone for a year; I’d forgotten what the alternative felt like. I missed it. I missed having somebody there for me when I needed them. And every second that ticked by while I waited for MacCready outside of Bunker Hill felt like an eternity.

I shrugged. “I like you.”

“Oh,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t know you felt that way. You don’t really show it. Well, except for the sex stuff, but my guess is that it ends there, right?”

“No.”

Another stint of silence, then, “Really?”

I sighed yet again. “I don’t know, MacCready.”

After a third bit of quietude, I felt the bed creak. A chest pressed against my back, a furry, muscled arm stretching around my middle. His palm came to rest over my abdomen, and he gave me a sweet, little pet. “How are you feeling?”

My cock sprang to life. “Good.” _Please…lower…_

“You worry me, you know.”

“Hm?”

MacCready buried his chin against my shoulder, pressing a soft, little kiss to my neck. I accidentally allowed my hips to stir. They stirred right back against his crotch. _Sí, justo ahí…_

After another couple of kisses that made me _really_ horny _really_ fast, he confessed, “Your headaches are getting worse. They’re inhibiting your ability to fight and I’m worried about you. If they’re so bad you have to throw up…”

“I mean I _did_ fall into a sinkhole a week after splitting my face open.”

“Yeah but you always wake up sick from those dreams you have. They wake you up every night, Jack. I know it’s not my place to suggest this but…” He ran his hand over my middle, lifting my shirt and brushing against my skin. _That feels so good…_ “I think you should go back to Diamond City and see what Piper has to say.”

Maybe. But I didn’t want to think about that right now. “I’ll consider it, so long as you keep touching me.”

MacCready tittered. “Oh yeah? Want to strike up a deal then?” 

“Mhmm…” I nodded, grinding my ass against his crotch. He was already hard. “I’ll go talk to Piper if…”

“If…?”

I rocked back a second time, this time with a quavering moan. Fuck it. MacCready was hot as sin. And those dreams I had about my husband – as screwed up as he was – made me realize something about myself, something that had been haunting me ever since I had that memory: I wasn’t a domme. Fuck, I wasn’t in charge of anything. I was hopeless. Desperate. Lonely. Wanting. I needed to be fucked and I needed it bad.

“Whoa, you alright?” MacCready’s hand dipped lower, tracing over my navel and finally down to the hem of my briefs. I was so hard in them. I grasped his hand and forced him to cup me, rocking yet again and giving a moan of equal caliber, just like he had done to me when he was drunk in that tunnel. “Damn, you’re hard…”

I couldn’t stop moving my hips. I could feel him back there, his own hard-on struggling to break free from his boxers. Still, it was nowhere near as desperate as mine. Mine was already at full rigidity, and the briefs MacCready bought me were a size or two too small. They were tight, and heck, I don’t even think they were men’s, not judging by the way I filled them out like I did. I was so hard that the elastic on the leg holes was stretching out.

MacCready cupped his hand around my genitals and I let out a loud, pleading moan. “Holy crap,” he gasped, “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Please…”

“Of course.” He pressed another kiss to my neck that made me tilt my head. “I’ll do anything for you.” His lips clasped my neck, palm grating against on my stiff. It made me buck into his open palm, filling it out and then some. I wanted to break free from my underwear so bad, but there was also something wildly enticing about being teased like I was. I closed my eyes and squirmed. “What do you want me to do Jack? I’m still pretty new, so-” 

“Fuck me.”

“Wh-what?” he gasped, like his mouth was dry suddenly.

“Please, Bobby, I need it so bad.” I forced his hand to bore down over my groin again. _Oh fuck…_ “Please. I’m so hard. I just need to be fucked.” 

“So, like, you want me to…?” 

“Please put your cock inside of me.” I moved my ass against his crotch again. This time, he let out a soft gasp. “Please,” I repeated, “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll talk to Piper, I’ll pay for both our ammo and stims, I’ll do anything!”

I was begging, pleading loudly. And my hips would _not_ stop. If he didn’t move soon, I was afraid I was going to start edging. My balls were already so tight, churning with need.

“Is…is it going to hurt you?”

“I don’t care!”

“Is there lube, or?”

“Oh fuck Bobby seriously?! Just roll over!” I demanded, not that I gave him an option. I spun around and pounced on him, making him gasp as I tugged his boxers down over his cock. Sure enough, he was already hard. I wondered how long he’d last this time. He wanted lube? I’d give him lube!

I held down his hips and took his cock into my mouth, drawing a hard, sudden moan from him. As he did the day before, he bucked his hips and fucked my throat. _Good._ My tongue swirled and danced across his dick, working him until he was good and hard and red like he got when he was desperate. I moaned as I sucked him, ignoring the ache in my stomach and allowing his hard-on to slip past my tongue and into my cinching throat. My muscles contracted around him, sheathing him in wet heat. I bobbed my head up and down until he was stiffer than ever.

By the time I let his dick fall onto his shirt, he was sweating and writhing underneath me. He looked like he was enjoying himself. Fortunately, he wasn’t right there on the edge yet so he still had some time to enjoy himself. Me though? I was about to blow already. 

I crawled on top of him and let my aching dick touch his. He was hard, but I was harder, feeling like I was going to die if I didn’t get release. I rocked my frenulum against his cock and whimpered. “Please fuck me.”

“Are you kidding? I’ll do whatever the hell you want if you keep sounding like that!” he laughed, moving his own dick against mine. And who was I to deny such a humble request? (Not that I could have; I was a lost cause.) 

“Bobby please…please…” I moaned, humping his dick like it was going out of style. Did I talk that way because I used to perform in front of a camera? If so, then there was some merit to it. I was hard. _Really fucking hard._ I grabbed his wet dick and lined him up with my asshole. “Please…” I continued, lowering myself onto him. He wasn’t particularly large, and that was probably good considering my stomach hurt. Now Jeremy? Jeremy was big. Long, really. And he would fuck me until it hurt more than I bargained for. But MacCready was the perfect size, this hard, solid five inches slowly sinking into my ass until…

My prostate. Fuck. _Fuck. **Fuck my fucking prostate!**_

I leaned my head back toward the ceiling, sweating profusely at that point, and whined. “Oh God, your cock feels good…”

MacCready had no idea what to do. No idea what to say. One day we were experimenting with light mutual masturbation and the next, he was ass-deep inside of me, discovering what it felt like to screw another man, and that the man he was screwing was actually very, very turned on by being controlled - - something he had no idea how to do. It was a nice prospect. MacCready, experimenting with his sexuality, and me, getting an assfull of rock hard dick.

I was riding him and I was riding him hard. It must have felt pretty good for him too because he was gasping under my weight. My spit had made him nice and slick, too, so he was moving in and out with ease. It was the cleanest, most pleasurable anal I had ever received, and I couldn’t have stopped if I tried.

His head plowed against my prostate again, stirring that familiar sensation inside my belly and balls. “Ah! Fuck babe!” I reached down and started stroking my cock. My head was so swollen. “Oh God, right there, I’m close!”

MacCready seized my hips and doubled his efforts to rock with me, lifting me up off the bed with each thrust. He may have been a small guy, but boy was he strong. Every time I moaned or gasped, he grunted, until his hips were driving relentlessly against my ass. He was getting there too and judging by the way he was sweating and panting, he wasn’t going to last. 

I was a mumbling mess, now, reciting pointless and desperate words because I needed it, needed _him_ and had to let him know somehow. “Fuck fuck fuck babe I can’t, I can’t, oh God, I fucking can’t!”

“Come on, Jack, let it go,” he breathed.

I was going to. _Hard._ “¡Cabálgame más duro! ¡Quiero sentirte dentro de mi!”

“I dunno what you’re saying, but,” he grunted this deep grunt, “it’s making me cum!” MacCready tilted his head back, slamming his hips against mine. I felt his hot load spill inside of me. “Ah shit Jack!”

I was right there with him, gasping, moaning, “Oh!” with every stroke of my cock, and from the moment I felt him release, I began to as well, these huge, _massive_ gushes of cum exploding out of my cock like it was never going to end. Even as MacCready croaked and let his voice die down, I was still cumming, maybe letting my fifth or sixth load spill across his clean shirt. 

I let go and my dick dropped into the puddle on his belly. “Tócame.” I nodded toward my erection.

“Oh…okay…” he replied, cautiously scooping me up in his fist. “More?” I nodded fervently. I was going to die if he didn’t touch me, I swear to God. So he did. He ran his fist over my bare cock and immediately it was too much to handle, this brisk overstimulation that pulled, _forced_ an even strong torrent of cum from me. 

I was so swollen. Throbbing. Hard. Aching. Dying. Needy. “Don’t stop!”

He didn’t. He started stroking me as though I hadn’t already cum and as though I couldn’t anymore, but you know? I could. I really, really could. And I did so much, cumming and cumming and – 

_“Cumming! I’m cumming!”_

_Jeremy laughed in my face. “No you’re not.”_

_“Babe, come on! Please!”_

_Jeremy let go of my erection. It was just as swollen and insatiable as it was with MacCready. My husband had my arms tied up to the bedframe, knees bent and legs spread open so that the video camera could see everything: Jeremy sitting behind me and me perched in his lap with his cock inside of me, probing my prostate until I felt like I was going to explode. And that douchebag wouldn’t give me relief. Instead, he gave me the world’s slowest reach-around, stroking me one, tiny stroke at a time while his length forced its way inside of me._

_“It’s been an hour…”_

_“One hour, nine minutes, and seventeen seconds,” he corrected. “I have a stopwatch.”_

_“Babe please, PLEASE just let me cum already!”_

_“Let me enjoy this,” he said, sliding a single finger up the underside of my wanting shaft. It jumped so hard that he laughed. “Oh, baby, you look so good when you’re this worked up. You get so loud.”_

_“I’m dying.”_

_“You’re not dying. You’re just really, really hot and bothered, and that’s okay.” He pumped my dick once before letting it fall back down. I gritted my teeth and rocked against him. Oh Christ, he felt so fucking good inside of me, I just wanted to come, let it all go all over the bed. That much was made clear when I threw my head back and whimpered. Jeremy chuckled again. “See? You sound so pretty. And next month when Shaun comes home from the hospital, we’re going to have to tone it down, aren’t we? So let me enjoy you like this…”_

_Another stroke. Just one. Fuckfuckfuckmyfuckingcock, ohhh!_

_“I – ahhh! – I still can’t believe that – oh, God! – we ended up with a boy.”_

_“I told you I’d have a son.”_

_“You told me **we’d** have a son. And hey, we mixed our spunk together, babe, he could be either of ours – ah!” Another stroke. I twitched and writhed._

_Jeremy stuck his fingers into my mouth and began rocking his hips. He was actually rocking them really fast all of a sudden. Like…oh, fuck. Why’d he start going so fast? It was getting me there too quickly…_

_“Well, I’ve got news for you, baby boy: Shaun is definitely gonna be mine. I feel it. Do **you** feel it?” _

_I sucked on his fingers and closed my eyes. I was gonna cum, holy shit. But what was up with Jeremy? He was fucking me so hard, and his breathing was getting ragged. He was usually so calm and collected when we had sex, but he seemed almost…angry…?_

_“A perfect son for a perfect pair of daddies.” He laughed. It wasn’t his normal laugh. “You just wait and see.”_

_Okay…? Why did it matter who Shaun came from? We mixed our sperm together for a reason: to raise a kid that was as likely to be mine as his. Something wasn’t sitting right with me. Jeremy was being really in-my-face about the idea of Shaun being his. First it was the fact that he was right about our baby being a boy. Fine, whatever. We were as likely to have a boy versus a girl as we were for the kid to be mine or Jeremy’s. But now it sounded like he really wanted Shaun to be his and only his._

_But all I could focus on at the moment was the impending load I was about to shoot in front of the camera. It would be one of our last videos. He promised. After Shaun came home, he was going to dial it back, finish school, spend more time with his family, and…_

I stopped cumming. MacCready was smiling underneath me. His smile faded when he saw the confused expression on my face. “Oh no,” he said, “is it happening again?”

I looked MacCready right in the eyes and said, “Fucking Jeremy, man.” He looked like I was still speaking Spanish. “Jeremy. My husband. He wanted Shaun to be his. That’s my son’s name. Shaun.” I peeled myself off of MacCready and flopped next to him. Man, we were a mess. “We mixed our sperm together for our surrogate, but…”

I squinted, staring up at the ceiling. Then, I closed my eyes, remembering my dreams. I tried as hard as I could to focus. 

Images flashed through my mind. Gunfire. Power armor. Shouts and commands. Men and women wearing green. An explosion. _Flash._ There was Jeremy, tall and thin, holding Shaun. Shaun was brown. Not white. Jeremy was in a kitchen – our kitchen – with one of those old robots. What was his name? He had a name, I swear. “Master Jeremy,” said the robot, “perhaps it’s Master Nate’s turn to hold young Shaun.” Jeremy scowled at the robot. “If Nathaniel can calm him down, then so can I.” I scoffed at him and the shitty attitude he’d taken with our son ever since finding out I was the biological father. “You can start by not being a dick to your son,” I said. Then, I saw a look I never saw in Jeremy before. He was…livid. _Another flash._ I was freezing, surrounded by metal walls. Icy fog billowed into the air. Shaun was there. Somebody took him, a doctor and a man with a gun, I think. Then came my voice screaming, “Oh God! Come on come on come on!” I was holding something. It was small and metal. A ring, maybe? Yes. My wedding ring. I stared up at the big, metal casket type thing. What was that thing? Jeremy was inside of it, and he was dead. Frozen. And I felt two things: first, longing. Sadness. Despair. My son’s father was dead. And the second thing? I stopped and let the ring fall to the ground, the ring I had pried from his dead clutches. Then I removed my ring. I dropped it onto the ground, too. “Fuck you,” I said, tears in my eyes. I held my hand against my face, thinking back to all the times Jeremy didn’t like the way I bonded with Shaun, when he would corner me and scream at me and hit me across the face. “Fuck you! FUCK YOU YOU SON A BITCH!” And then… **BANG!**

I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling again. For a second, I experienced the same sensation I always did. A pounding in my head, followed by the need to be sick. But then I just…stopped. I shut my eyes again and said, “Holy shit, Bobby. Jeremy was an abusive piece of shit.”

“What do you mean?” MacCready sat up and peeled off his sticky shirt, wiping some spare cum off of his belly. At least that’s what I heard him do I think. 

“He was so angry that Shaun wasn’t his. So angry that he beat the shit out of me.”

“Your husband hit you?” 

“Yeah.” I opened my eyes. There were tears in them. “Yeah, man. Who does that? Who begs for a son and then…” I choked and sobbed quietly, rolling over and burying my face in MacCready’s lap. He was reaching out to stroke my hair before I’d even set my chin against his leg. 

“That’s despicable. No one should do that to somebody they love. Ever.” 

I thought about correcting him and telling him that my name was actually Nathaniel, or Nate, I guess, but what was the point? Jeremy called me those names. Fuck Jeremy. Jeremy was a dead piece of shit and he didn’t matter anymore. Whenever MacCready said my name – my real name, Jack – it made me happy. Maybe the people at Bunker Hill weren’t happy with me, but at least MacCready was. That’s all that mattered anymore. He was the only person I had.

“Did you remember all that stuff just now?” he asked. I nodded and curled up, hugging his middle. “Hey, I’m really sorry.” His fingers combed through my hair. It felt so God damn good. “If…if you don’t mind my asking, how much do you remember, exactly? Do you still think you lived before the war?”

I nodded and rolled so that the back of my head was in his lap now, and I could look up at his scruffy chin. Which reminded me, he had bought razors. Thank God. Anyway, I said, “Yeah. I don’t really know where we lived, though. I know Jeremy died. He was in some kind of metal casket or something.”

“Weird.”

“Right? But Shaun? Some people took him away. I don’t know who they were, they just swooped in and…” I shook my head. “Who does that? Who takes a baby? And now, Shaun is probably dead. What happened to him? What the hell happened to my son? Fuck, Bobby…I wish I could still save him…”

“Maybe you can.”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious. You don’t know. Not for sure. And you’ll never know until you look for answers. Come on, Jack, this is your son we’re talking about. It sounds like you really love him–”

“Of course I do!”

“So talk to Piper in Diamond City. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for Shaun. Look, I know I’m not exactly the best person to come to for moral advice, but trust me on this: family is more important than anything else in the world. You know what you need to do next.”

**Author's Note:**

> This version of the sole survivor is gay, true neutral, and has not committed to any faction. For other versions of the sole survivor (gay, straight and bi) as well as ones with different faction loyalties and alignments, please see my other Fallout 4 works.


End file.
